Roses Are Red
by Pointy Objects
Summary: It's a fleeting, fickle, funny thing; he asks for your hand, you take his ring, but fidelity is never as it seems, from a shallow grave and rosy dreams...
1. 11 hours, 17 minutes

A/N: So, I have some people to thank/blame for this. First of all, **Arnolds Love**, who tagged me for her Song Shuffle Challenge. It was exactly what I needed, because from one of the songs that I wrote to (specifically, #7, entitled "How I Could Just Kill A Man" after the song by Charlotte Sometimes) I thought up this little story. It begins directly after the events in that ficlet, so if you haven't read that, then you might want to, just to understand the story a little better. Also, I have to thank **the amazing finn**, whose wickedly hilarious (and somewhat crazy) PM, totally inspired me to go for this. I may be using _some _of her ideas, so credit goes to her too. And that is why…this story is officially dedicated to them! I've never dedicated an entire story to someone, but they definitely deserve it; they're both great authors and absolutely fantastic and fun and cool and..,stuff. If you haven't read their Song Shuffle thingies, then do so. Immediately. Right after you read this.

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Roses Are Red

Chapter One: 11 hours, 17 minutes

* * *

Stretching my arms above my head, I yawned, taking a brief respite from my work. Granted, there wasn't much work to do around here, but I'd been able to keep myself distracted for most of the morning. Not that I really _wanted _to be distracted; to be honest, I didn't regret anything that I've done in the past 24 hours.

'He had it coming.' I told myself. The way I see it, everyone pays for the things they do, eventually. What goes around, comes around, right? So whether it was a bad case of pneumonia, or a tragic car accident or a stray bullet from a robber while standing in line at the bank, Arnold was going to get what was coming to him.

All I did was cause it to happen _sooner_.

I'll admit, I was somewhat nervous about it this morning. I worked almost obsessively to remove every trace of dirt from under my fingernails. Looking at them now, some still remained. What if someone found out? What if someone saw me? But then, I thought about it, and really, who cares? He was _my _husband; we vowed to devote ourselves to each other completely. Which made him…_mine_. And _I _can do whatever _I_ want with _my _husband.

Even if that means poisoning him and burying him in my garden.

"I'm going to the Coke machine." I informed another receptionist, Nancy. She nodded and dialed another number as I left. Walking down the hallway, I thought about my life now that Arnold was gone. Would I mourn? Where would I go from here? I reasoned that not having Arnold at all was better than sharing him with who knows how many other women.

Dropping my change in the vending machine and pressing the button next to a random drink, I tried to clear my head. I had no regrets. What was I to do if not kill him? Sit back and be the adorable, naïve wife, who watches her husband waltz around, thinking nothing of it? Lead a broken and lonely life, after he's left me for some air headed bimbo?

No.

I _earned _him. I paid my dues. He was _mine_. And if he couldn't be mine, I had to see to it that he couldn't be anyone else's.

Back at my adjoined desk, I shifted a few papers around, once again content with myself. If these brief lapses into guilt were bound to continue, hopefully they'd only last a few moments.

"Helga?" Nancy said, hanging up the phone and turning towards me.

"Yeah?' I said, calmly.

"Are you and Arnold going to be able to make it to our barbeque this weekend?" she asked, tilting her head and smiling. Was she _mocking _me?

"Oh, I'm sorry. Arnold won't be able to make it. He's going to be out of the country." I said, creasing my brow, feigning disappointment. I may still try to make the party. No use sitting around the house sulking over a dead husband.

"Too bad. Rob hadn't seen him since your housewarming party." she noted. "Will you still be able to join us?"

"Of course. I'll bring a potato salad." I said. I have to say, I'm a little amazed by myself. I've only just murdered (oh, that sounds so mean. I didn't murder him…I…okay, I killed him. Let's go with that) and buried my husband, and, apparently, no one had any idea.

"Perfect." she replied, turning back to her computer and clicking away.

By this time, I was so pleased with myself that I turned to my own modem, and looked at the time. 4:44 PM. I could leave work a few minutes early. Extending a goodbye to Nancy and clocking out, via the company's computer database, I grabbed my purse and left the office. The early evening sun was still bright, but it comforted me. Despite the warm summer, the interior of the car wasn't too hot. On the way home, my favorite radio station didn't play a single commercial. No one ahead of me swerved, no one cut me off in my lane. And when I pulled up to my (that's right _my_) beautiful two story house, none of the neighbors parked in front of my mailbox.

If things weren't going my way, then I don't know what was.

Walking across the lawn to the front door, I noticed the thin spots of grass, and where the mulch was fading in the front garden. Kicking a few chips of dark wood with my black pumps, I thought about hiring someone to fill in a bit of topsoil around the front yard, but disregarded it. Doing so would look suspicious. Granted, Arnold was in the back garden, along the east wall, but any activity in the front yard would bring attention to the back yard.

Shaking the thought from my mind, I unlocked the front door, and shut it behind me. In the living room, I kicked off my shoes, and tossed my belongings on the green leather couch. I hated these green leather couches. Another sacrifice I made for him. Smaller than the rest, but still, a sacrifice. Wonder how long I should wait until I remodel this house. I always did like French doors. Maybe install a few bay windows facing the back of the house.

Chuckling to myself, I thought about how it'd look. Arnold thought bay windows were impractical and unsightly. Putting them on the back of the house; that would just be icing on the "Take That, Arnold" cake.

That night at dinner, I went for something simple. There would be time for elaborate dinners later. Amongst the rotisserie chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes, I did treat myself to a glass of wine. Finishing off my last glass for the night, I lazily turned toward the back of the house, and smiled.

"This Merlot is absolutely _divine_…" I said, sluggishly. Did I drink that much already? Settling my glass down (which proved only slightly difficult, as the room immediately began to spin), I ran my fingers over the lip of the glass, emitting a quiet hum from the flute. It was then that I noticed the faint, brown line of dirt underneath my nail, causing my hand to stop abruptly. Bringing my hand close to my face, I inspected each nail before moving on to my other hand. Each fingernail had a layer of dirt tucked neatly within it's bed.

Getting up quickly and moving to the kitchen sink, I turned on the hot water tap and began washing my hands. When the dirt stayed in place, I recovered a dishwashing cloth and began scrubbing at my fingernails until they were raw and red. I know, for sure, that I removed any traces of dirt from my hands this morning. And I certainly don't remember going near the garden since.

By the time I finished, by hands were pulsing and burning, but the dirt was finally gone. I shut off the water, and shook the thought from my mind. Drying my hands tenderly, I stole one last glance at the window and retreated to my (that's right, _my_) bedroom. Dressing for bed, I again thought about how my life would be from now on. If nothing else, I reasoned, I'd probably sleep better. I was used to sleeping alone; Arnold either spent his nights at work, or…with someone else. The only difference I would feel now, is the ease with which I would sleep. No more worrying about where he is, or who he's with, or if he'll make it to bed before sunrise. Just me, two king sized mattresses, four oversized pillows, and a husband who couldn't put me through an ounce of heartache anymore.

I could get used to this.

* * *

_There she is. It's so dark and evil, but I love it! Okay, here's some useful little facts about my story:_

_- It won't be terribly long. I'm shooting for no more than six chapters._

_-There are little things that you have to pay attention to, because they'll make sense later. Trust me._

_-It will blow your socks off and across your house/apartment/dwelling place. Of this, I am sure._

_Hope you enjoyed it!_

_-PointyO_


	2. 4 days, 13 hours, 5 minutes

**Roses Are Red**

**Chapter Two: 4 days, 13 hours, 4 minutes**

* * *

I can't say that I was thrilled to go to Nancy's Annual Garden Party. I mean, she was a great hostess, and there was always _amazing _food there. Last year, she had these little sandwiches, with this grey stuff in them…it looked completely gross, but they were ridiculously delicious. So, the food was a definite perk, but Nancy…she kind of struck a nerve with me. She and Rob were nice enough people, I suppose. But Nancy was aware that everyone had secrets, and sometimes it seemed like she feigned interest in people just to inquire of them. A very prying woman, that Nancy was, and the last thing I needed was someone to be snooping around in my business.

It's been four days since I (ugh, I hate saying that I _killed _him. I punished him, alright? He deserved it…) "disposed" of my lascivious and cheating husband, who despite what you may think, I loved very much. That's why I did it. I _loved_ him. Even after we got married, I was still obsessed with him. You know when couples are apart, and they call each other and say something like "I was thinking about you today…"? Yeah, well, I actually _was _thinking about him. All the time. It drove me crazy sometimes; how is a love like that even possible? But I did. I gave him everything. And he…he cheated on me! _Me_! Who gave him her all, and, and…alright. Calm down, Helga. We're getting worked up again. Deep breathing, deep breathing, and…we're back.

Anyway, like I said, four days. Not too bad, I think. I didn't really plan for what I'd do after the deed was done. I made enough money on my own to keep the house, so money wasn't a problem. Surprisingly, I felt a little…lonely. I mean, Arnold wasn't home too often, but when he was, we always spent time together. It was a sad sort of loneliness, that I was feeling these past few days. Like being lonely for a cat that didn't want to rub up against your feet, or stay in the same room with you. Even when I doubted Arnold's devotion to me, I liked having him around. I loved him.

But, that was the past and this is the present. And _presently_, I'm running a full hour late for Nancy's ridiculous party. I promised a potato salad, but I was so busy today, that I just threw some lettuce and other various veggies together for a _garden_ salad. Because I'm going to a _garden_ party…get it? Anyway, she better be happy I'm coming at all.

Even though I didn't really care about Nancy, I hoped that my attire was alright for such an "event". I chose a light purple dress, the ended just at my knees, with a conservative, square neckline. I almost forgot I had it, since I bought it so long ago. Either way, it seemed to fit my needs for the night. And, I've also managed to paint my nails a bright shade of red, even if it didn't match my dress. It was mostly because A) it was the only color I could find, and B) it hid the dirt from under my fingernails. Granted, I haven't been in back garden for nearly four and a half days, but every morning, there seemed to be dirt under my nails, as well has residue on the palms of my hands. In addition to the caked on dirt on the knees of my pajama pants, it literally looked as if I spent the night crawling around in the dirt. And seeing as I didn't (unless I stumbled into a bag of Pork Rinds...again), I decided against trying to figure it aout, and just hid it the best that I could.

Entering Nancy's backyard was like entering A Home and Garden Magazine. She had every type of shrubbery, or flower or anything that one could imagine and they were all perfect. I didn't envy her too much. I certainly had spent enough time in my garden for one lifetime, if you know what I mean. Get it? Because that's where I buried my…never mind.

When I did find Nancy, talking animatedly with another couple (Gah, is this a "couple's party"? I might as well drop off the salad and high-tail it home. Nothing like being a goosegog at a "couples" party."), I put on my best "I'm representing The United States of America at the Miss Universe pageant, sans the falling on my butt part" smile, and tapped her shoulder.

"Helga!" Nancy squealed, turning around, and enveloping me in an awkward and uncomfortable hug. I stuck between balancing the stupid salad and trying to return the stupid hug from my stupid coworker at her stupid garden party. In her stupid garden. Stupid.

"I'm so glad you came! And a salad? Looks yummy!" she said, parting from me and talking like I was a third-grader.

"Well, yeah, I know I promised a potato salad-"

"Oh, honey, it's nothing! I've got more potato salad than I know what to do with! Here, meet the Emersons…" she began, which led to a long and arduous meet and greet with everyone that graced her perfectly manicured yard.

When I finally broke away, in need of a drink, I approached the hired bartender, who stood behind a table littered with alcohol, as well as sodas and mineral water. In an instant, I no longer felt the urge to drink. I was never a big drinker, but something told me not to. Don't ask, because I don't know why either. Indulging in a sparkling water (which I don't really like, but it seemed like a sophisticated thing to be drinking…whatever), I toured the garden on my own, knowing that Nancy would eventually find me and bug the living crap out of me in the process. I was right again: the food was great, the company, not so much.

I ran my fingers over a few of Nancy's immaculate hydrangeas, noting the deep shades of purple and magenta that they possessed. Hydrangeas were my favorite; I even carried a bouquet of them at my wedding. The same color as Nancy's: deep, rich violet.

For a moment, I wondered what Arnold would be doing if he were here. This crowd; these annoyingly uppity people were not to his liking either. If he was in their presence, it was always to be polite, never because he actually wanted to be. I guess that was part of why I was here. If he were here, the two of us would team up, like always. We'd approach these upper-crust, bluebloods and give them a taste of _our _medicine. He and I could hurl witty quips and sarcastic comments like a well trained Improv group. Then, after we wreaked enough havoc, we'd leave abruptly, bidding goodbye to no one, and catch a movie. At least that's what we did last year.

This time, I had to go it alone. I could not have been more miserable, if I tried.

"There you are, Helga! I was worried!"

I stand corrected.

"Rob, I found her!" Nancy said over her shoulder, calling her husband over. Why were they looking for me? Did someone steal one of their prized sterling stainless silver salt shakers? Rob approached and shook my hand firmly.

"Hi, Rob." I said, plastering on the same old smile.

"Hey, Helga, how've you been?" I knew he didn't care, so I just nodded. "Good, good, where's that husband of yours? Thought we might be able to catch up."

"Oh, Arnold's off again. You know…" I said, bringing the wineglass filled with sparkling water to my lips.

"Right, right…" he said, Why did he have to do that? I heard you the first time, no need to repeat yourself. Even without the name, Rob was reminding me of my father, which kind of made me want to pinch him. Or step on his feet. Or slug him.

"What's he do again?" he asked.

"He's a travel writer. He'll be in Spain for another few days." I was flawless. I didn't even have to try to lie. Well, technically, I wasn't. Arnold _was_ a travel writer. But, he certainly isn't in Spain, if you know what I mean. Get it? Because he's…never mind.

"Oh, Spain, how lovely." Nancy cooed. Stupid woman. "Have you seen the roses?" she asked excitedly.

"Oh Nan, no one wants to see those flowers."

"Nonsense, follow me." she said, obviously missing the shock on my face. "You too, dear." she said, pulling her husband and I along to a far corner of the garden. In a lonely bed sat a bush of perfectly pink roses. The flowers were large and a few other colors bloomed up nearby. Yellow, peach, even a white rose. They were all very, in Nancy's words, "lovely", but I wasn't a huge fan of roses. Plus, the last thing I wanted to see were more roses, if you know what I mean. Get it? Because that's where I buried my…never mind. You never do get it, and you probably never will.

"Aren't they gorgeous?" she asked.

At first, I didn't say anything. What do I care about a bunch of flowers? In my opinion, flowers are the sexual organs of plants. And I don't go around complimenting the sexual organs of human beings, so why would I go around complimenting the sexual organs of other…beings? Exactly. I wouldn't . So, I didn't.

"Ya' know what I saw the other day?" Rob asked, before taking a long swig from his brown bottle. "I was driving by your house," he said, motioning to me,. "And I managed to see your 'lovely' roses. Never seen anything like 'em."

My roses? Was he teasing me? By now, a small crowd was gathering around Nancy's stupid roses, and I was feeling hot and irritated.

"Really?" Nancy asked, looking back and forth between her husband and I.

"Yup, they were real red, and everything." he said.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, you stupid man.

"_Red_? Oh, I haven't been able to get my roses red in years. What's your secret?" Nancy asked, leaning in towards me.

'_What's your secret?…_' The question echoed as I felt the garden start to spin. My secret? _My secret_? My secret was my husband. My husband made my roses red, because that's where he is. In the garden. _In _the garden.

"My…my…" I began, trying to focus on my words. "My secret is…"

And the last thing I saw before I fainted, was my broken water glass, next to a perfectly manicured, fallen, white rose. Nancy's only white rose.

* * *

As much as I'd like to say that I woke up in a pastel, white hospital room with a big wide window and flowers beside my bed, the only interruption being that of a kindly, old nurse come to bring me some Jell-O, I'd be lying. I woke up in an ambulance. And not the kind on TV, where the EMTs look like Micheal Phelps, and they care about you. No, my EMTS were loud. And ugly. And the ride to the hospital was sickeningly bumpy and uncomfortable. And when I finally got to the stupid hospital, I sat on that gurney for about twenty minutes. I can't say why exactly I "fainted", but I was feeling well enough to leave on my own. After a long and frustrating search for my purse (which had a large, brown footprint on it), I hailed a cab, hoping to get home.

Inside the cab, I looked around wearily, though I could see little from the darkness outside. It was early evening when I arrived at Nancy's ridiculous excuse for a party, so it had to be at least eight or nine o'clock at night by now. I knew I shouldn't have gone…

"Where ya' headed?" the cabbie asked me.

"Uh, um…Pinecrest Community, Cypress Bay Rd." I said, rubbing my head. Maybe I shouldn't have left the hospital so soon. I felt the beginnings of a headache beating against my temples.

"Y'alright?" he asked, starting up the dark car.

"Sure…" I said, leaning against the glass of the window. The hospital that Nancy sent me to was a mere five or so miles from my house, but I fell asleep nonetheless. I woke up only when the cabbie summoned my attention, warning me that he was supposed to keep the meter running when his passenger fell asleep, but I looked sick, so he took pity on me. I smiled and thanked him, paying my fare, and adding an extra ten dollars, and exited the cab.

Unsettled, walked to the front door, and reached into my bag to fumble with my keys. As I reached around, I felt something strange lining the inside of my bag. With any luck, a couple of residents decided to use my bag as their new trashcan. Locating my keys, I pulled out my hand, expecting a food wrapper to come out along with it. Instead, the sight caught the air in my throat and almost stopped my heart altogether.

Attached to each of my fingers and the palm of my hand, were several rose petals. Red rose petals. I immediately thought of Nancy's words; she wasn't able to grow any red roses. Where had they come from? Why were they in my bag? And, above all else…who knew?

Unlocking and opening the door quickly, I slammed it behind me and stomped up the stairs to the dining room. Throwing the ivory curtains apart, I stared out into the backyard. Scanning the area for any forms of life, I finally settled on my own, wretched rosebush.

Just as Rob said, they were red. Almost too red. Like…

Blood.

But that was impossible. I didn't _stab_ my husband. I didn't shoot, or dismember or decapitate my husband. I…poisoned him. No actual bloodshed involved at all.

But, they were red. They were blood red. And I know for sure that they weren't that red before.

Suddenly angry with myself (and Arnold), I drew the curtains back together firmly, hearing the faint, but distinct tear of the sheer fabric. Turning away from the glass and falling backwards against the window, I sank to the floor, taking the draperies with me.

"I need a vacation."

* * *

_And chapter two is done. Crimeny, I love this story. It's so evil and delicious. Like dark fudge chocolate cake. Oh yes. Yes, it is._

_So, as many of you may, or may not know, I start my new job today (insert squeal of delight) and, I was really nervous, becasue it's my first day, and I have to do all this training, and there's a bunch of people trainig with me, and we're all looking to secure the same job. ANyway, when I'm nervous, I have very weird dreams, and last night, I dreamt that, I got banned from the site, becasue I posted a new chapter for one of my stories, but instean of the chapter, it just had the F-word a million times. So, I was banned, and my job found out about it, and they fired me before I could even start. I know, strange, right?_

_So, to quell my nervous soul, I'm posting this, because it's early, and even if I bomb at trainig, I'd liek to say that I did something good with my day. _

_AIL: Art Imitates Life:_

_-I'm not, in any way shape or form, obeseed witht the Olympics, and even though I'll catch a few sports, I don't think I'm hooked. Nevertheless, I had to mention Micheal Phelps beasue A) he's from Maryland, which automatically gives him, like, 7 million cool points, and B) he's smokin' hot. I'm not gonna lie. I think that when he comes back fron Beijing, he should ask me out on a date (I also had a dream that he took me on a date to the Inner Harbor, and the next day, I went to the Inner Harbor with my friends, and we went to the ESPN Zone to watch him race...I know, we were meant to be). He probably won't, but I think it's a good idea. _

_-The sandwiches with the grey stuff was a reference to my friend's Bridal Shower last year. The lady who made all the food was a genuis, hands down. Some of the stuff looked really weird, like the grey-stuff filled sandwiches, but they were delicious. To this day, I don't know what that grey stuff was._

_Hope you enjoyed! See you after work!_

_-PointyObjects_


	3. 9 days, 4 hours, 18 minutes

**Roses are Red**

**Chapter 3: 9 days, 4 hours, 18 minutes**

* * *

How far in is too far in? Because I think I was there about 9 days ago.

I wish I could say that I was, at present, sitting on the beach, sipping Mimosas, soaking up a tan and flirting shamelessly with a waiter who was probably ten years younger than me. I wish I could say that my vacation was the best since my honeymoon, and that it completely cleared my mind from any anxiety I may have put upon myself.

But I'd be lying.

It rained. It rained on my vacation. And when it wasn't raining, the toilet in my hotel was broken. And when it wasn't raining, and the bathroom wasn't flooding itself, I was just miserable. I tore a hole in my sundress on the door of my hotel room. I didn't pack enough underwear for the trip and had to buy some from a shady looking lingerie store. There was a hole in my butt for most of the second day. And I found hair in my Mahi Mahi with Mango Salsa at dinner. Correction: I found a hair _under_ my Mahi Mahi at dinner. _After_ I finished eating it. The Mahi Mahi, I mean.

And the best part? The most fabulous, gratifying, extraordinary part of this entire trip: _Roses_. You guessed it. They followed me. Not that I was going that far. The eastern shore, was literally 3 hours from my home by car, but I took a train. Nancy called it a "staycation", because I wasn't really going anywhere I hadn't been before. She used annoying little words like that. Like, "guesstimate" and "textation" and…"lovely". Anyway, the stupid flowers followed me from home. Not literally. A bunch of roses didn't actually grow little legs and walk to Eastern Maryland. But they were there.

For instance, The hotel I stayed in was hosting a Rose Ball; some sad excuse for twelve year-olds to say they went to "prom". The 5th annual Rose Day was going on; a bunch of locals who had nothing better to do than grow roses (I mean really, anyone ever heard of tulips? Magnolias? Lilies?!) marching down the street singing and dancing and throwing roses at people. I swear that one of those little kids on that float was chanting something demonic when she hit me in the head with her stupid rose.

Even after I left, deciding that my sanity (however much was actually left) was more important that a rainy, rosy "staycation", someone tried to make me pay for one! It was a homeless woman, selling roses and candy from a cooler aboard the train.

"Fancy a rose?" she asked, smiling genuinely. No, Eliza Dolittle, I don't "fancy" anything. Not a rose, or you or this lousy excuse for a vacation (What? You expected me to use that word again? No, I will not. Staycation or not…crap! Now it's stuck in my head. Like that song I hate. About that girl who kissed another girl. I kissed a- crap! Somebody get these words out of my head!). I reasoned, before shaking my head and sending her back to Henry Higgins, that, that in the long run, she was just going to sell them to someone else. Someone who may have been in my same predicament.

I had to save _them_.

"How much?" I asked. She informed me that they were 3.50 each. Geez, lady, talk about a rip-off. Well, times are hard. "I'll take them all." I told her and her face lit up. So, I ended up shoving out 49 bucks for some roses. When she moved to the other side of the train, I began my task. It wasn't hard; she must have removed all the thorns from the stems, because I felt no pricks as I went about mutilating the flowers. After I finished, I felt relaxed; at least a little more relaxed than I had for the entirety of my vacation.

As I left the train car, a puddle of rose petals was all that remained on my seat.

Back at home, I quickly grew tired but avoided the bed. I should have unpacked my suitcase, but I was feeling lazy. For some reason, I was drawn to the back window again, and as much as I didn't want to, I found myself gazing at the rose bush. It was lush with green leaves and a couple buds for very red roses after Nancy's party, but today, it was almost entirely roses and buds.

They were _taunting_ me.

Stomping downstairs, I kicked the back door open and stabbed the earth with my low, brown heels. A yard away from my rose bush, and my ire was at an all time high.

"I would appreciate it if you'd leave me alone while I'm on staycation!" I yelled, placing my hands on my hips. I don't think it was an extreme case. I think it's a woman's right to kill (there's that word again…lets see…Execute? Annihilate? Eradicate? Yes! I like that one. Eradicate…) her husband, and go on vacation without thinking about it all the time. Cut me a break.

"This isn't my fault. I didn't do anything wrong. You…you did something wrong." I reasoned, beginning to pace across the span of the bush. In an instant, I found myself on the ground, kneeling in front of the rosebush like a sinner at an altar. Is that what I was now?

"You made me do this." I whispered, clutching the dirt under my hands. Sitting backwards on my heels, I hurled the clumps of dried dirt at him. I mean, the bush. Where'd that come from? When I ran out of loose dirt, I groped for anything I could reach: rocks, twigs, the tennis ball that some kids threw in our yard. My anger resulted in only a few petals dropping from the bush.

Breathing deeply, I crawled forward, and turned, letting my back fall flush against the east wall. I looked to the sky, waiting for my breaths to become even. Without thinking, I fingered a stem of the bush next to me, dragging my finger up the stem until I reached a full, lush rose. Plucking it from the stem wasn't difficult, and I brought it to my face, momentarily smiling because of the softness of the petals and the fragrance it emitted. I drew it over my lips, and smiled wider.

Even after the rose was gone, I could smell its perfume lulling me to sleep. The last thing I saw before the night rose and my eyelids fell shut, was the red stains on the palm of my right hand, where a large, red rose once sat.

* * *

I do not get the point of hospital gowns. I'm not having a surgery on my back, or a colonoscopy, or getting a massage. So why is there no back to this thing. What is the point?! And these hospital beds/cots/chairs? What, because you have a degree, you can't talk to me in an armchair, or something? And they're always cold! Always! It's a conspiracy. Everything about this place is a huge conspiracy.

I scheduled the appointment the morning after I woke up in my garden, wondering where the stains on my hands and skirt came from. My stomach was killing me, and I hoped that it was an actual illness as opposed to my conscience trying to nag at me.

The doctor, Dr. Harrison, was nice enough. He spoke like he knew more than he was supposed to, and if I wasn't feeling absolutely ill at the moment, I'd have called someone else. He asked all the usual questions, if I was taking any new medications, any injuries, last cycle (that's always a fun question when your doctor is a man…). The one that almost got me to break was when he asked if I ate anything unusual lately.

"I went on vacation and had some Mahi Mahi with a side of someone's hair." I joked. He smiled, and I knew he didn't suspect anything. Or if he did, he wasn't letting me know about it. How would it have sounded if I said, very casually, mind you, _"Anything unusual? Well, there was the rose I ate last night when I went to yell at my husband, who is, by the way, buried under that same rose bush. That might have been it…"_

Before he came in, I ran my hands down my face, feeling a little tired. When I set my hands back onto my lap, I noticed the smear of red in the center of my right palm. I didn't remember putting on any lipstick, but I wiped the stain from my palm with my other hand. I was surprised, however, when it returned, as a slowly expanding pool in the center of my hand, like I had a cut there. With my left hand, I wiped at the palm again, only for the reaction to be repeated, the pool of red liquid growing more radpidly this time.

Wiping my hands on the light blue hospital smock, I watched it absorb the red liquid, leaving a long, red mark down my thigh. I leapt from the cot, frantically rubbing my hands up and down my chest, and screaming when the stains began running down my arms and onto the floor. I could feel the liquid on my face, running down my neck and causing the hospital gown to cling to by chest. I closed my eyes and screamed louder. What was happeneing?!

A nurse came in and looked understandably worried. I began crying, since she obviously wasn't grasping the gravity of the situation.

"Dear, what's wrong?!" she shouted over my screams.

I stopped flailing and screaming and sobbing, long enough to extend the palms of my hands to her, showing her the red that was covered most of my body and skin. "I'm bleeding!" I screamed, feeling my voice crack.

She looked shocked, and stepped forward to offer comfort. "Honey, you're not bleeding at all."

The calm in her voice, made me calm down and look at my hands and smock.

Clean. All clean. Not a stain to be found. I clenched and unclenched my fists, looking for an immediate reaction. None. Was I hallucinating?

"I'll get you a glass of water, dear." she suggested, leaving the room, clearly frightened, mostly by me. I sat back down on the cot and tried to calm myself down. I was losing it, and fast, and it had to stop.

When he reentered, I looked up, hoping for some good news. Food poisoning, stomach virus. Maybe even a worm or something. No guilty consciences here…

"Mrs. Shortman, I'm glad you came in today, but I'm sorry Arnold couldn't make it. Spain, you said?" he said, looking at me, then at a few stapled sheets of paper in his hands.

"Yeah..." I answered, tired of small talk. Let's get down to it, I've got things to do, namely avoiding roses or the thought of Arnold.

"Well, be sure to let him know that his wife is doing alright. No signs of food poisoning or anything." he said, smiling. He must have read the worry on my face, because he continued.

"Mrs. Shortman, you're two months pregnant. Congratulations."

* * *

_If you saw that coming, then sorry. If you didn't then-HA! Isn't that great?! You didn't think I'd write a story with Helga updating every two days talking about a dead Arnold, did you? No, no, my dear friends, I had to spice it up a smidge. Helga is really losing her mind, and this news is only going to speed up the Crazy Train. Isn't that a song? Yeah…Ozzy Osbourne. Haven't listened to him since freshman year of high school, when I thought I was gothic and "Ruthless" was just an idea in the back of my Biology notebook. Ahh, the memories…_

_**BIG NEWS:** If any of you have read my other story, The Compromise, then you should be aware that there are character photos up on my little website thingy (link found on my profile). Well, guess what? Roses are Red officially has Character Photos as well!! There's only two of them, but more will be added as the story goes on. There will only be seven chapters to RAR (Roses are Red), so, I'm about halfway through. Hope you guys are loving it so far. I saw my ninth grade English teacher (who, not only gave me 50 points extra credit for bringing in my Hey Arnold VHS of "School Play" when we were studying "Romeo and Juliet", but pretty much solidified my love for writing), and he was talking about how I was always writing and entering contests and stuff, and he asked me to email him whatever I was working on. Anyway, I'm considering sending in a version of RAR (I'm working on an original version, that might be a bit shorter, with original characters) because it's my first real "grown-up" fiction. What do you think? Yes? No? I'm not sure. I don't know._

_-PointyObjects_

_P.S. I'm totally not kidding about this: Two days after I posted Roses are Red, the rose bush under my bedroom window starting sprouting buds. There is a single rose under my window right now. It's not red, but…come on? Freaky, right?_


	4. 2 mon, 3 wks, 6 days, 7 hrs, 54 minutes

**Roses Are Red**

**Chapter 4: 2 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours and 54 minutes**

* * *

I parked far away from the employee parking lot, because I read somewhere that pregnant women need exercise, even when they're tired.

Bull.

What I need right now is for someone to carry me. Even though I don't work here anymore, I walk inside and go up to the elevator like I still do. Who cares, the receptionists aren't even paying attention. They're sitting there at that big old desk, pretending to work, but I know the truth. They're all downloading Jonas Brothers songs and checking their Facebooks. I may be 26, but I'm not stupid.

In the elevator, I prepare to face Nancy. I know she's up there, twittering away and prancing about and…doing things. Probably sitting there in her little revolving chair, waitingwaitingwaiting for me to come in to pick up my paycheck, or anything, just so she can _trap _me. I know she's on to me, but I can only hope that she isn't on to me being on to her being on to me.

The elevator doors separate, and I quickly straighten my back so that it doesn't look like I'm concealing a beach ball under my shirt. Four months along, and I'm not showing _too _much; it is my first pregnancy after all, and I've always been on the skinnier side. What bothers me is, essentially, myself, since Dr. Harrison told me that I was…pregnant. First and foremost I felt shock; I was pregnant. _Pregnant_.

Whereas most women felt overwhelming elation, and happiness, and hope, I just felt…overwhelmed. I'm having a baby. _A baby_. Another life is growing inside of me, and I'm terrified. How was I supposed to raise a child? Better yet, how was I supposed to raise a child _alone_?

The first week (after he told me) was torture. I was convinced that my doctor was wrong, and my charts were mixed up with someone else's. I told myself this when I went to bed at night and found myself automatically sleeping on my side, as opposed to my stomach. I told myself this when I woke up in the morning, with the need to empty my stomach of everything in it. I told myself this throughout the day when I got randomly tired, and needed to sit down. The fatigue and morning sickness wore off a while ago, but I was still nervous.

Could people tell? Was I obvious?

I trained my mind to keep from getting too scattered; with me I carried a tiny blue notebook, in which I wrote down anything important, so I wouldn't forget. Currently, I was just filling it with lies. The lies that I had either told people already, or that I was planning to tell them, if they asked about myself, Arnold, or any other prying questions.

But even when my mind was in order, my body wasn't. In all honesty, it's one thing to know in your brain that there's another life form inside of you. It's a completely different thing to feel it. It was only a few days ago that I felt the baby move, for the first time. I was in line at the grocery store, and suddenly I feel something brush up against my stomach. Gasping loud enough to alert the cashier, I bent over in shock and it happened again. Subtle as it was, when I realized what was happening, I could feel nothing but shock and happiness, even if it was only for a moment. The baby moved. Our baby moved.

Joy was suddenly replaced with desolation. No, _our _baby didn't move. _My _baby moved.

My shoulders fell as the realization hit me. I'd have to get ready for this child. I'd have to go to lamaze classes and be the odd woman out. I'd have to suffer through cravings and cramps and crankiness, and have no one to turn to. And the vision of being in that delivery room, surrounded by nurses and doctors, sweat beading my brow and pain on my face, with no one's hand to hold but a random, scared physician's assistant, made me cry, right then and there. The man in front of me in line offered a wrinkled Kleenex, and I was too upset to question it.

I was in this alone. And it was all my fault.

Stopping in my stride between the rows of identical cubicles, and painted a firm, angry look on my face. No. This wasn't my fault at all! Arnold did this! I didn't force him to leave me for those other women! I didn't force him to lie to me about things getting better, and making changes, and starting over. And (this didn't even cross my mind until just now), I didn't force him to eat that cookie. That's right! I told him they were for the new neighbors. He didn't even have to take one…and since Arnold voluntarily ate the cookie, he killed himself by proxy. It was clearly suicide. No judge could find me guilty, no jury could convict me.

I'm innocent.

My hands are clean. The thought of my husband committing suicide should not have brought me as much comfort as it did, but…it did. Guilt, for some reason had been eating away at me for weeks, and now, my conscience felt clearer than ever. I momentarily wondered if I should start telling people that, but I decided against it. If I told people that Arnold killed himself, they'd want to know how, and why, and how I found out. Then they'd want to see the body, or something. No, the present lie would have to be enough for now.

Distracted by my newly freed conscience, I didn't notice Nancy coming right at me.

"Helga!" she squealed, earning her the attention of nearly everyone around. Why does this crazy woman think that I like her? I've never told her that I like her. I don't think I've ever even hinted at it. I went to her garden party, and ate her little squares of bread with the grey goop on them, but nothing more. Nothing that would lead her to think that's it's okay to hug me every time she saw me.

Once I felt her arms encircle me, I got nervous. What if she felt my belly? What if she asked about where I've been? What if the baby kicked right now and she felt it too? Much to my relief she stepped back from me, shortening the hug and taking a look at me. Oh no, she was taking a look at me! I tried not to look like a typical pregnant woman, so I wore a blue button-down shirt with plenty of room for me to grow into. Seeing as it feel over the waist of my pants, no one had to know that they had an elastic waistband. Even with my attire in check, I caught a glimmer of something in Nancy's eyes. Suspicion? Doubt? Uncertainty? Whatever it was, I had to distract her from my belly somehow…

"Helga?" she began, looking me in the face and tilting her head to one side, looking confused. "Why…why are you sticking your tongue out at me? And why are your eyes crossed?"

Is that what I was doing? I kind of let my face do whatever it wanted for the sake of distraction. I guess it worked. "Oh that? It's umm…a…customary greeting. In…Argentina. That's where Arnold is, actually." I added. I made a mental note to make a physical note of that, so I didn't end up telling someone else that he was in…Bolivia or something. _Arnold is in Argentina, Arnold is in Argentina, Arnold is in Argentina…_

"That's nice…" she said, skeptically. She suddenly perked up, and spoke in a higher tone. "So how have you been? I've missed you so much lately!"

"I've been alright. Doing this and that…I just came to get my paycheck." I said, fumbling with my purse strap. I really needed to sit down or something. Looking to my left, I could see the light from the break room. In the break room there were chairs. And, oh…the Coke machine. _Coke_. I haven't had one in weeks. The doctor says caffeine is bad for the baby, but it's all I've wanted since I found out. I feel like some sick, sorry drunk…only I'm addicted to Coke. Guess that would make me a sick, sorry Coke-head. Only I'm addicted to the beverage, not the powdery white stuff.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, leaning in way too close. I didn't reply, but I did consider sticking my tongue out again to get her to step back a few paces. "I asked if you wanted to have a seat with me in the break room. I'll get James to have it ready for you by the time you leave."

Oh! Seat! I'd love to have a seat…but in the break room? Ugh, the lure of the Coke machine shall be my undoing. "Sure." I said, following her to the dimly lit room. Until then, I didn't even notice that I was clutching the strap of my handbag so tightly. Releasing it, I felt the blood flow more freely into my fingers. Stealing a glance from Nancy's back, I looked at the purse strap, knowing what I'd see in advance, but making sure just in case anything had changed…

…Nothing has changed.

In the perfect shape of my clenched fist, I found a red handprint marring the white of my purse. Having spent the last two months or so at home (alone), I was almost used to the sight of this mysterious red liquid. I still could not identify it; it had no odor, no taste (yes, I tried to taste it) and, outside of the confides of my mind, left no permanent stains. It was just that…a stain. I no longer spent my time trying to decipher and avoid it, but merely watched out for it and grew accustomed to the nuisance. The same thing goes for the "hallucinations". I was very used to them…up until last night's. It was so like the others but still so different…

* * *

_I roll over in bed. Again._

_I use my pillow to stifle out the noise from outside. Again._

_I fail to get any sleep at all. Again._

_And, once again, I get up from the bed, to play onlooker to the party that cannot be silenced. Not by the neighbors, or the police, or myself. No one can shut them up. And so, I live with it. For the last 47 nights, I have lived with it. You would think I'd be used to it by now._

_I'm not._

_Down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the dining room, I move the tattered remains of the my curtains aside, to gaze into the backyard. The sight should scare, or at least alarm me. It doesn't. I'm used to it._

_Almost every person that Arnold and I knew as children is back there. And for some reason, they all look, more or less, the same. There's Arnold's grandparents, and a few boarders by the food table, laughing and arguing animatedly. Their voices are muted due to the glass, and I wish for a moment that I could open the door to call out to them, but I can't. I never can. At least not until the sun rises._

_I'm locked in._

_I take special notice of Arnold's grandfather, who is parading around the yard with a wine glass filled with cocktail sauce, the edges accented with a few pale pink shrimp. I'm not sure why he's so elated, but he seems to be the happiest person in the yard. Then to Arnold's grandmother, who, despite her age is wearing some strange costume, and reading from a thick, burgundy book. I can't tell what she's saying, but I surmise that it's of little importance, since no one seems to be paying her much attention._

_After that, I see Gerald and Phoebe, prepubescent and giggling, which frustrates me a little. I'd very much like to jump back a few years and party in someone else's backyard. Tearing my eyes away from them, I look around watching a few others for a few seconds before growing bored. These strange occurrences are starting to weave together. I can almost guess what is going to happen._

_Like, right now, Harold, Stinky and Sid are going to do something mean to Eugene, per usual. Last time, they gave him a wedgie and pushed him over the neighbor's fence. The fence post nearly broke, but when I made my way out there the next morning, it was in perfect condition. Everything back there is always in perfect condition. I don't know why I worry._

_On the porch sits Eugene's glass of punch, and I see them putting something in it. I'm not sure what it is, but it's caught my attention. My subconscious may not allow me to go out there, or anything, but I can at least watch with some interest. They scamper away like a bunch of morons; Stinky, a full foot ahead of everyone else, Harold, tripping over his own giant belly, and Sid, scuttling off like a lobster in a cap. In no time, Eugene casually walks over to his punch glass and finishes it off. I can't help but roll my eyes; if I know anything, they've put powdered laxatives in there, and he's about to dash off to the nearest bathroom._

_What happens next is odd._

_Eugene sort of does a weird twitchy walk, and his face starts contorting a little. He stands up shakily, before doubling over dramatically. What is he doing?_

_As he clutches the dirt, I can almost hear Stinky, Sid and Harold laughing their pants off a few feet away. Before I can even hope that they haven't hurt him too much, Eugene falls over, his hand draped awkwardly across his chest. Sid, Stinky and Harold go into shock. I have a feeling that this wasn't how the prank was supposed to turn out._

_The glass and the activity of the others in the backyard muffle their voices, but I can tell from the looks on their faces that they're panicking. I think Harold's even called out to his Mommy already. Unfortunately, no one in this group is terribly bright, so I watch with mild amusement as they run about, now tripping over one another, looking for something or someone to help them. All the while, Eugene lays on the grass, motionless, and no one seems to notice. At some point, Suzie Kokoshka actually steps over his limp body and heads toward the snack table._

_When our asinine assassins return, they're carrying something…a rod, or…a shovel. My shovel. The same shovel I hid in the back of the shed over four months ago. How did they happen to find that shovel? What are they going to do with it?_

_Stinky begins ordering around the two smaller boys, pointing to Eugene. The two hesitate, but eventually grab his arms and legs, and begin dragging him to the east wall. The East Wall. Stinky points tentatively to the rose bush, and Harold and Sid dump Eugene's body lazily next to it. Without thinking, I've already begun knocking on the glass door, attempting to get their attention. I've never tried to communicate with any of my "hallucinations", aside from my feeble attempts to get out of the house when I first began having them, so I'm unsure of how they'll respond._

_The answer is that they don't. They don't respond._

_I knock harder and begin shouting at them, as they begin slicing at the dirt near the bush with the shovel. They're trying to uproot it. As Stinky begins stabbing at the ground near the rose bush, I begin twisting the handle to the door, in a vain attempt to get out. The sun is peeking over the horizon and the sky is lightening by the minute. But even with dawn approaching, I know that it'll be too late. They'll have destroyed the rose bush. They will have found Arnold._

_Open-palm smacking the door, I ignore the red handprints that it leaves, knowing that I have to stop them. I watch as Stinky, frustrated with the tough dirt surrounding the rose bush, stabs mercilessly at the stump of the bush. Without warning, there is an intense pain in my chest that nearly brings me to my knees. Grinding my teeth together, I struggle to stay on my feet, leaning upon the glass door for support. Before long another shot of pain goes through my chest, in the same spot as before, and I dragged my palm down the door, leaving a smeared red handprint in it's wake. Clutching my chest through the nightshirt that I wore, I weakly continued tapping at the glass, crying out from the pain. The ache in my chest was nearly unbearable, and I sobbed loudly in the darkness of the room, lit only by the light from outside. With each jab that Stinky made into the rose bush- my rose bush- my chest hurt more and more, until I lay helplessly on my back in front of the door, feeling the warm red liquid pouring from my palms and pooling around me. Turning slightly to my left, I can see the sun beginning to rise, casting an amber glow over the sky that is still visible to me from the floor._

_My body jerks upward with each thrust at the thick bush, and I can feel it in my chest the second that it finally falls. All that is left is a dull throbbing, spreading from my collarbone to right where the baby bump starts. I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head, listening to the conversation that ensues outside._

_"Boy Howdy! What's Arnold doing in the rose bush?" Stinky said, raising his voice above the other noise in the yard._

_"Yeah, and why's he's buried eight feet under, isn't it supposed to be six? I'm so confused!" Harold replied, no doubt clutching his head. Oh, I forgot about that. I wasn't exactly paying attention when I put Arnold back there, but I know that it took a few hours more than I projected._

_"I reckon Helga's dun beat him down two more feet…" Stinky said. The last thing I felt as Stinky threw the battered and scarred bush aside was the once warm liquid growing clod around me, and my eyes falling shut._

* * *

"You look really good, Helga." Nancy said, pulling out a chair at a plain white table and sitting down. I took a seat across from her and allowed my eyes to slide across the room at the Coke machine.

Oh, my dear old friend, it's been too long…

"So do you." I said, more to the machine than to Nancy. Resting my hands on the table, and actually attempting to pay attention to the annoying being before me, and plastered on a smile and looked at her. "So…how's work been lately?"

"Oh, it's been fine. The new girl is nice, but she's awfully quiet. I tried to get her to talk, you know, asking her about her interests and her favorite colors, and such, but she's so quiet; she either doesn't say anything at all or answers me with one word, it's so strange, I can't imagine why she wouldn't want to talk to me…" Nancy went on for another five million years. See, this is exactly why I can't stand this woman. She's so bloody annoying.

Speaking of 'bloody', it seems as though the belt of my purse wasn't the only thing this infernal stain was looking to mar. From my hand came an emergent puddle of the same odorless, tasteless red liquid, pooling about my hands and spreading across the table toward Nancy, who was still chattering on. I kept my hands steady, so as not to alarm her, seeing as she wasn't looking at the table anyway. As I said, I've spent a great deal of the past two months in in my own home, growing habituated to the strange goings on of my mind and body. The bizarre liquid no longer upset me, the dirt under my fingernails and on my clothes was not a bother, because after a few minutes, or hours, at most, they were gone. However, I couldn't tell whether or not they were a figment of my own imagination. The incident in Dr. Harrison's office was the only one in which someone saw me as I was stuck in a 'hallucination', as I'm calling them. No one has ever seen me during said hallucination. Maybe they'd see it too. Not that I'd want them to; I mean, I wouldn't mind having someone freak out _with _me, as opposed to because of me, but what happens on the off chance that I don't freak out? Nancy would leap up and get all antsy, and ask me what was going on.

"_Oh this?" _I'd ask her, holding up my hands, palms facing the sky as I further stain the table and begin to flood the break room. _"I'm not sure what it is exactly…blood, maybe? Anyway, it comes out of my hands at least twice a day. Do you happen to know where the mop is?"_

How about…no?

Nevertheless, I spoke up, interrupting whatever it was she was still yammering on about. "Hey, Nance. Can you hand me a napkin?" I say, lifting my hand to point to the stack of napkins on the table behind her. I chuckle slightly as the thick fluid falls from my outstretched fingertip and joins the puddle that has engulfed the table. The feeling of the warm fluid on my lap is somewhat alarming, but I clear my face of any shock. Obviously, I'm the only one who can see…any of this. Good to know, for future reference.

"Here you are." she says, handing me a few. Even though I know that she can't see all this…I really can't think of another name for it aside from _blood_, even though I'm certain that it's not blood. Fine, we'll call it blood for now. But that doesn't make it blood. It's not blood. I'm not covered in blood. It's not blood.

I snatch the napkins from her, mumble a word of thanks and begin dabbing the center of my palms. The napkins are instantly stained red, and I toss them aside as soon as they are thoroughly soaked. To me, I'm making little progress. The more I dab, the heavier it flows. To Nancy, I probably look like I've gone cuckoo.

"Um, Helga…may I ask what exactly you're doing?" Nancy asked, looking concerned. She's found a plastic spoon with which to fumble around with, and that is beginning to annoy me as well.

"Oh, I saw on the news last night that…germs accumulate in the center of your hands, so I was…cleansing mine." I explained. I had a feeling that she'd buy it because…well, Nancy's not the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean. She's nice enough, but a genius that woman is not.

"That's interesting…" she said, standing, wearing her polite smile again. "I'd never even imagine that, but I guess it makes sense."

"Present fears are less than horrible imaginings…" I said, not knowing why the words came from or why I said them, but knowing that they made sense to myself, if no one else.

"Did you notice the new microwave?" she said, walking over to the pristine looking, white microwave behind me. I shook my head and waited for her to continue. "Yes, the old one was broken, and anytime anybody used it, it'd start making sparks fly all over the place and once, Casey-that's the new girl, by the way- her macaroni and cheese caught on fire. So, I think one of the senior staff members donated this. It's quite nice isn't it?" she asked, looking over at me.

"Yes, quite." I agreed. To be honest, despite the blood and the Nancy and the sparkly new microwave, I still wanted that Coke. I let myself get distracted by the machine again, humming quietly across the room from me and didn't notice Nancy walking back to the table. When I did look back, it was too late for me to discern either of our actions. I was on auto-pilot, and had no time to censor my response.

The spoon the Nancy held came flying toward me, almost as if thrown, and landed on my lap. Of course, my brain did not tell me that there was a spoon heading toward my face; my brain was only sending me "Coke! Coke! Give us Coke!' signals, and caught the spoon out of the corner of my eye, thinking it was a bug, or something more threatening. Leaping up from the table, I pushed my chair back, one hand landing over my heart and the other a few inches under my bellybutton, pushing the shirt close to my flesh and revealing the underside of my telltale bump.

Crap. I walked right into that one. Here it comes…

Nancy gasped, covering her mouth, but only for a second. "I knew it!" she said, with a beaming smile on her face.

"What did you know, Nancy?" I asked, keeping my calm. Maybe she wasn't that perceptive…

"That you're having a baby!" she said, pausing afterward, probably to wait for my denial. When none came, she squealed and began clapping like a child. "Yes! I knew it! You are, aren't you? That's why you're not saying anything, isn't it? Isn't it?" she pressed.

"If I tell you, will you keep your voice down?" I asked, clearly annoyed. She nodded like one of those annoying dogs that people keep on their dashboards. In fact, I think Nancy has a few of those annoying dogs on _her_ dashboard. What a grating little woman she was. "Fine, I am pregnant."

At first, I wanted to kick myself for telling her. But I figure that if I deny it, she'll go to someone else and ask, who will go to some one else, who will go to someone else. And then Nancy and her troupe of someone elses, will go to management and try to hire me back, but put me on Maternity Leave, and then questions will be asked, and visits to the house will be paid, and they'll find my dead husband in the backyard. Letting Nancy think that she was more in the loop than she actually was, helped from keeping her to bother with trying to get into the loop (a.k.a spying). So, I just let her in, a little.

"Oh how wonderful!" she said, launching herself at me.

"Nancy," I began, my voice muffled by her shoulder. "The baby…"

"Oh yes, right." she said, backing off and making sure I was alright. "Well, that's about the most fabulous news I've heard all day…how did Arnold react?"

Although I wasn't looking her in the face, I could tell that any traces of sincere shock would set her off. I didn't even want to imagine what would happen if I fabricated that I didn't tell him. She'd go crazy…crazier than usual, anyway. And in truth, I did tell Arnold. Sort of. Whatever.

"He was…well, shocked, as I was, but very, very excited. We both are." I said genuinely. Nancy was too elated to hint at the sadness in my voice. I so wanted for Arnold to be excited and happy, and a little scared. Just so I wouldn't feel alone with all these emotions. Who knows, maybe if I hadn't…not _killed_, but….done away with him, I'd still be miserable. Maybe instead of having a baby with me, he want to roam free and start a new life. Maybe it was a good thing that he was gone.

"And you should be! Oh, your first baby together…" Nancy said, drifting off. She was probably imagining babies of her own. Maybe we're in the same boat. Perhaps, instead of blood, Nancy wakes up every morning imagining that she's just had a baby. And she searches the house for it, but can't find it. Frankly, I'd take the blood. Nancy gasped again, holding her hands out in front of her, as if stopping me from moving. I swear, she is the most annoying person in all of creation. "I just had the most fabulous idea."

"What?" I asked, looking as bored as I knew how.

"I can throw you a baby shower! Oh, it'll be amazing! We can have it in my backyard, and decorate the fence with these absolutely adorable streamers that I saw at Baby World, and I can make mommy-friendly snacks and-"

"Actually, that won't be necessary." I said, interrupting her high-pitched rant. "My…sister, is throwing the baby shower. Yeah, she lives in Seattle, and since that's where I grew up, most of my friends are still there, so…yeah." I said. That was partially true. Most of my childhood friends are still living in Seattle, so if I had told Olga that I was pregnant (which I didn't…she's unbearable, but not quite as unbearable as Nancy. Crazy, huh? Someone on this planet is actually more annoying than my sister…go figure.), that would be her reasoning behind doing so.

"Oh, well, that's great." Nancy replied. She didn't sound like it was so great to me. "Let me know if you need anything, anyway…" She probably wanted me to invite her, or some other such nonsense. No, Nancy, you are not invited to the imaginary baby shower that my sister is not having for me in Seattle. Take that.

"Yes, well, I'm feeling tired all of a sudden…" I said, sitting back down in my chair.

"Are you alright, dear? Do you want some water?" Nancy asked, kneeling next to me and looking worried, but keeping that perky voice filtering in my ears.

"I'd much rather have a Coke…" I mumbled to no one in particular.

"Ah Ah Ah…" Nancy said, wagging her finger and chiding me. "No caffeine. It's not good for the baby."

I brought my eyebrows together and looked at Nancy angrily. Did she think I was stupid? If I wanted the Coke badly enough to hurt my baby, I'd have done it the moment I stepped off of the elevator. "I know that…" I replied venomously. Finally, Nancy caught on.

"Oh…of course, I didn't mean to make you mad, I'm sorry." she said, quietly folding her hands in her lap. "Have you found out if it's a boy or girl yet?"

"No." I answered.

"Well, why not?"

"Because Arnold had to leave for…" Oh crap, I know I should have written this down. Albania? Austria? Antigua? Argentina? Argentina! "…Argentina, right after I told him. So there was no time, and I'd rather not go alone." Which is exactly why I'm not going. I don't need to know what gender my baby will be, I'll love him regardless. Any child Arnold would give me would be perfect, in any case.

"I'm sure you can go and just-"

"I'm not going!" I said, slamming my fist on the table, which was still somewhat red. A few droplets splashed onto Nancy's face, but I knew she couldn't feel or see them.

"Are you sure you're not mad?" Nancy asked, not fazed by my anger.

"True! Nervous- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why _will _you say I am mad?" I said, again questioning the state of my head. I think it's time to go home. "I have to head home." I got up from the chair as quickly as I could (which, in retrospect, probably wasn't very quick at all), and left the room.

"What about your paycheck?" Nancy called from behind me, obviously stunned about my early departure.

"Have the office send it to me…" I replied, turning into the area littered with cubicles and walking briskly into an open elevator. Turning around, I saw Nancy advancing toward me, holding a white piece of paper in her hand, (probably my paycheck) trying to speed-walk and catch up with me. Moving to one side, I pressed the "Door Close" button, and watched as her face was quickly replaced with two sheets of stainless steel metal, my only company being that of a blurred reflection of myself.

Though the mirror image was anything but clear, I stared at myself, bewildered. Where was the glow that seemed to encompass every other pregnant woman on the planet? Where was the eager expectation, the fear and the hope that was supposed to manifest itself with my every move and word?

It was at home, laying quietly under a rose bush. Just my luck.

* * *

_Chapter Four! Are you guys as thouroughly freaked out as I am? Hope so. Because, I didn't even think this story would get as freaky bananas as it has. And so far, it is very, very freaky bananas. _

_This chapter is dedicated, in addition to Arnold's Love and theamazingfinn, APV, who pretty much wrote a largo chunk of this chapter. Actually, APV thought up a lot of this chapter, and wrote some of it out for me, and then I just blended it in with the chapter and, now it's fabulous. So, thanks a ton, your addition made this chapter at least 56 times better than it would have been without it!_

_I don't know what's up, the last sentences of my stories lately have been especially pooey. Maybe I should get a beta...I'll think about it. _

_-PointyObjects_


	5. 5 mon, 2 wks, 15 hrs, 14 minutes

_**Roses Are Red**_

_**Chapter 5: 5 months, 2 weeks, 15 hours, 14 minutes**_

* * *

"Well, that wasn't _so _bad…"

"Hmm…" I certainly didn't want to get short with my friend, but I was cranky. And there was little that anyone could do these days, that would lift my spirit. I was humming a song to myself, and looking out he window, not taking notice of how far away from the house we were. '_I try so hard not to notice, I try so hard not to care, I try so hard not to know that you're not here. But I'm counting down the hours and I'm counting up the days, I try so hard not to show this side of me...'_ I finished off my bottle of Coke (and by 'finished off', I mean 'sucked down the remaining 3/4 of the bottle') and burped quietly into my fist. At least something went my way today.

"Are you sure supposed to be drinking that?"

"Yup." I answered, not allowing anyone to ruin the 900 millilietrs of paradise that I just enjoyed. Such moments of pleasure where few and far betweeen for me.

"Yes, but are you supposed to be drinking that much Coke? It's seems like a lot..." she said, trailing off. I hoped that she realized that I was no longer listening, and would just stop talking. Wonderful, now I'm getting fed up with _everyone_. I'm so fed up with being fed up with people.

Weighing her words carefully (as she usually did), she spoke again, turning the corner into the street. "I know you get…well, cranky easily, and…maybe it's just harder, since you're in your third trimester, to control your anger. I really think you scared that lady back at the gym…"

"Did you see what she did to me?!" I shouted, my voice sounding louder in the car than it was.

"Yes, but-"

"She touched my stomach, Pheebs! _My _stomach! Who told her that was okay?! Who gave her permission to touch me?!" I continued, suddenly feeling the need for fresh air. I'm so tired of people touching my belly, and asking me about my baby, and suggesting how long I should breast-feed. Do they not know that my plate is currently full? That there's a half-painted nursery in my house and that I can't so much as pick out a car seat without having a panic attack, and that my roots are showing? Oh, and let's not forget my husband in the backyard! So, excuse me if I'm not up for shopping around for mommy-friendly, leak-free bras because I've got a belly full of baby and a flowerbed full of cheating, dead husband!

"I'm sorry, I know you're…tired-" Phoebe began, but I cut her off again.

"I'm not tired, I'm just…lonely." I said. I saw her nod from the corner of my eye and I knew that she understood.

Since Phoebe arrived a week ago, I came pretty close to telling her about Arnold. She was my best childhood friend, and since she grew up with both myself and Arnold, she was well aware of my obsession with him. Perhaps she felt that it waned after we got married, but it hadn't. For the first four months of our marriage, I phoned her constantly, telling her of my astonishment that he chose me-_me_-to spend the rest of his life with. That he loved me enough to devote his life to me, the same way that I had to him. After a while, I was listening more to her voicemail than to her, and I figured she was tired of hearing me go on and on about Arnold. So, when I told her that I was pregnant with Arnold's baby, she was obviously surprised that I kept it from her for so long and that, even now, eight months into it, I was so quiet about it.

"When did you say Arnold left for…" she said, drifting off.

"Luanda." I said simply, distracting myself by staring out of the window. I heard about it on the news, and decided to send Arnold there for a little while.

"Right…Luanda." she finished.

"About three days. He wanted to stay until you came, but, he couldn't." I said, monotonously. I was like a robot now; printing out lies like I was born doing it. Phoebe was smart, but I didn't see her figuring me out until it got painfully obvious. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." she answered, pulling up to the house. She opened her door to exit, and looked back, probably waiting for me to do the same. But I wasn't ready to go inside. Lately, I've found myself less and less willing to be home, even if I'm not alone. "Are you alright? You look a little pale all of a sudden."

"False face must hide what the false heart doth know." I replied, still looking out the window.

"Come again?" Phoebe said, leaning closer toward me.

"Can we just drive around for a little longer? Maybe we can go back to the hardware store and pick out some more paint." I suggested. I hated hardware stores. Nothing was where I needed it to be, and I always found my self lost in the aisle made completely of front doors. But I was desperate. I almost hated being home, and I'd do anything to spend a few more hours away.

"Helga," Phoebe started, sympathetically. I knew right away that she wasn't going to give in to me. "You know that you're not supposed to be walking around so much. Maybe you should lay down for a while."

I nodded, because I knew of nothing else to do. My moods were shifting too fast for me to handle, and in truth, I _was_ tired. I wanted to take a vacation-a real vacation- and clear my head. But that wasn't possible. There was no where that I could go to escape my problems. At the same time, I knew that I couldn't face them, because, it would drive me crazy. Crazier than I am now. So, instead of sulking on the house, I settled for doing so on the front lawn. Phoebe must have been concentrating on getting my things in the house because it took her a while to notice that I wasn't walking through the door behind her. I kept my eyes focused on my hands, sitting upward on my lap, listening as Phoebe set my bags inside the door and came out to ask me what was wrong. I stared into the deep red pool that sat in my hand, and grimaced at the reflection. I was a mess.

"Are you hurt? What happened?" she asked, checking my arms and back for injury.

"I don't know." I replied, whispering. The wind was picking up and I felt chilly, but I didn't want to go inside.

"You have to come inside, Helga…" Phoebe said, holding my arm and trying to lift me up. But I was comfortable, on the cold, yet soft, ground, and refused to stand. She resumed her seat next to me. In a moment, I, as well as Phoebe, felt surprise at the soft jerking that came from my back as I began to cry. I could feel her tense up next to me. After all, she had no idea why I was crying; she probably thought I was on another mood swing.

"I tried to tell myself that it was _his _fault. That _he _left me first, but…it's not. He's gone. It's my fault." I said, not bothering to cover my face. My tears fell into the tiny puddle in my hands, causing ripples to expand over my palm.

"What do you mean? Arnold's gone?"

"I did it. It's my fault." I said, again. "I never got to tell him. And now he's gone."

"Where? Where is Arnold?" Phoebe asked, frantically, and for a moment, I was almost ready to tell her. Almost.

"Gone…" whispered. Rain was starting to come from the sky, and splashed on my hands and face. "A little water clears us of this deed…" I muttered, turning my face up at the sky.

By the time Phoebe got me inside, I was nearly soaked, as well as she. It took quite a bit of coaxing just for me to stand up, and even more to motivate me to move. She escorted me to the bedroom, where I curled myself as tightly as I could (considering there was a huge mound of flesh and baby separating my chest from my knees), and tried to fall asleep. I did, for a few hours, but I woke frequently, my face still wet from fresh tears.

How did things fall apart so quickly? I had no regrets when this began. I was fine, living my life, without Arnold. And when I did regret it; when remorse gripped my soul, it was brief and fleeting. I justified myself the same way he must have when he left me alone at night, wondering where he was. I told myself that he had it coming, and that I deserved the happiness that I was bound to receive now that he was gone.

But these last few months have been torture. Little, if anything brought me comfort. For a while, I was looking forward to our baby. Any of the feelings that I had to hold back, I could express upon this new life; the last manifestation that Arnold, at some point in our marriage, really truly loved me. Even if he could not give of himself fully, he had the decency to give me a child. But then, I began thinking about how I could raise this child. My parents were far from a shining example of how to bring up a child, and even though Arnold was raised primarily by his grandparents, they were good to him. At least with him around, I would have some help, someone to teach me to be a good mother.

As I drifted off to sleep for about the third time, I could hear a voice over the soft taps of rain on the roof. Phoebe was on the phone with someone, and being as she was in the kitchen, I could only make out a few of her words.

"…where he is…said he 'left her'…" There was a pause then. I wish I knew who she was talking about or to. "…I'm worried about her…she doesn't talk about him…she's _different_…"

Well, at least I knew that she was talking about me. I didn't mind that. I'm sure that since I slammed the door in Nancy's face two weeks ago, when she came over with a brand new bassinet and twelve or so of my coworkers for a "Surprise" baby shower, that there were quite a few people talking about me these days.

"…if he did leave her….with a baby…I'm not sure if he knew…a few more days…" she said, moving about in the kitchen. I missed more of what she said, against the sound of pots and pans, I heard little else. My tired mind soon drifted off completely, and all I heard for a few brief seconds was the water rushing down the glass of my window in torrents.

* * *

"_Are you having fun?"_

_Sliding the goggles over my eyes and removing the snorkel from my mouth, I breathed in deeply, letting huge amounts of air enter my lungs at once. Paddling over to Arnold, I leaned into his warmth, looping my arms around his torso. I smiled against his neck when he mimicked my actions, and tilted my head up to look at him. _

"_I am having an amazing time." I said, grinning like a four year-old with a new toy. Leaning forward, he placed a tiny kiss on my forehead and released me. "I still can't believe you spent so much on our honeymoon, though." I said, trying to sound chiding, while wading around in the water. Greece was beautiful, but I was seriously concerned that there would be an eviction notice on the apartment door when we got home. _

"_About that…" Arnold began, avoiding my gaze. Whenever Arnold began an explanation with 'About that…', I knew that he was going to say something that would displease me. As few and far between as the occasions were, I could still smell them a mile away. "…You know the job I applied for a few days ago?"_

_Of course I knew about the job. He annoyed me day and night about whether or not he was qualified, how many other applicants were going to beat him out, how the boss may not like him for one reason or another. I nodded, hoping that if his next words were "I got the job", the he didn't ask for an advance just to send us to Greece. _

"_Well, I got the job." he said, still holding back from the excitement I anticipated. I found his hand in the clear, blue water and squeezed it. _

"_Congratulations, honey." I said, finding myself smiling as well. "But that doesn't explain how we're in Greece. Please tell me you didn't ask for an advance so soon…"_

"_No!" he answered, swimming backward and splashing me. "Every year, the travel writers get one week of paid vacation. Since I technically started last week, my boss told me that I could use it now, or get two weeks of paid vacation in a few months."_

"_So, you chose a week in Greece _now_, as opposed to two weeks in France next year?" I asked, sounding disappointed. _

_Arnold looked confused. "I…but you always talked about Greece, and…maybe next year-" He began before I could hold it back no longer, and began to laugh. Rolling his eyes, he stealthily swam toward me and enveloped me in another hug. He fingered the bottom of my bright red bikini and I brought my hands under his arms and linked them behind his back. Trailing kisses down my neck and shoulder, I laughed at the feeling, coupled with the cool water that surrounded us. His touch was anything but foreign to me, but under these new circumstances, I was even more elated. Looking over his right shoulder, and at the hand that fell atop his shoulder, I focused on the white gold ring that he gave me only yesterday afternoon. I couldn't imagine myself being any happier. _

"_Ready to head back to the hotel?" he said, quietly, against the skin of my neck. _

_Laughing again, I let my arms slide down his, separating us, but only slightly. "One more dive, and we'll leave." I said, noticing the pout on his face. Granted, we'd be in Greece for another five days, but I doubted that Arnold wanted to do much outside of the hotel room. _

_Adjusting my mask, I watched him do the same through my blurry goggles, and in unison, we dove, kicking our feet to drift to a few feet below the surface of the water. For a few seconds, we'd wave to one another, alerting the other of a colorful fish or a weird looking piece of coral, releasing a few bubbles along the way. AS I focused on a bright red fish that was darting about wildly, I felt Arnold tap my shoulder. Turning around, he held up his index finger and then presented his palms as if to tell me to stay. I was confused, but I figured that head to adjust his goggles or something. Nodding, I watched him swim up and break the surface. _

_Turning back to the bright red fish, I was shocked to find it a mere few inches from my goggles. Smiling to myself, I felt a surge of bravery, and reached up to touch it. With my finger approaching, it didn't seem startled, and I brought my finger up to graze it's scaly skin. As soon as I came in contact with the fish, there was an explosion. Instead of heat, I felt a rush of warm water surround me, and even with the goggles, I closed my eyes tightly. When I opened them, the water around me was completely red, and I could barely see my hand in front of me. Looking around, I searched for the source of the color, until I felt my chest beckoning for air. With the red in the water, it was hard for me to distinguish which way the light from the midday sun was coming from. _

_Swimming upward, I noticed the water clearing, and I could make out Arnold's feet just over my head. Wondering how I happened to drift so far down, I kicked my legs harder, my lungs now aching for air. _

_The shock at what happened next was almost unspeakable. _

_Without warning, something clamped onto my ankle and dragged me down. Without leverage to kick from that leg, I swam frantically with my other limbs, trying to fight against whatever was pulling me down. I opened my mouth wide to scream, enough so that the snorkel fell from my mouth and disappeared. Between the air pressure, lack of air and fear, my chest was hurting now and my lungs longed to take in air. Reaching upwards to where I last saw Arnold's legs drifting in the water. _

"_Arnold!" I cried, feeling the water enter my mouth, and my eyes clamp shut. _

* * *

I woke up coughing and soaked, a hand on my chest. I was very aware that the what I just felt was the result of a dream, but it didn't make it less real. Up until Arnold leaving me in the water, and my encounter with the fish, it was exactly what happened when Arnold told me of how he paid for our honeymoon.

Shaking my head, I tried to forget the dream and made my way to the bathroom. The only light in the room came from the open balcony of our bedroom, and I lingered at the glass door before walking into the bathroom. The tile was cold against my feet, and I turned on the light. In the mirror, I grimaced at my face. I haven't worn any makeup in quite a while, having no reason to, and it seemed as though the lines on my face were deeper than before. The pony tail that I put my hair in earlier was now limp, and I removed the hair tie, letting the barely-blonde hair fall over my shoulder. Rubbing my face, I tried wake up, and resorted to exiting the bathroom. I wasn't hungry, but I wanted to see if Phoebe made anything, or if we'd have to order out again.

Walking back into the room, I felt a draft in the room, and noticed how it was particularly cold against my lower abdomen and legs. It was too dark for me to see, but I had a feeling of what was staining my clothes. Walking back over to the bed, I held the comforter in one hand, ready to pull it back.

"Let me guess…a bright red stain?" I said, before whipping the thick blanket from the bed. I was shocked to find that there was no stain, just a big wet spot where I was laying. Laying my hand flat over it and pressing down, I could tell that it was warm and new. This eliminated my earlier guess that it was the rainwater that clung to my clothes when Phoebe brought me inside.

Looking back down at myself, I took note of where the wet spot was on my clothes. There was a little on the bottom of my oversized shirt, and my maternity pants were soaked to my mid thigh. My eyes immediately widened, and I did the math in my head. Looking at eh clock next to the bed, the red letters glowed brightly against the darkness.

_8:41 PM._

My water broke.

* * *

_Yeah, I know. I'm excited too. The song up there is called "Piano Song" by Meiko. It was a last minute decision. That part of the song reminded me of this story, so I incorporated it. And there are more "Roses" pictures up on my site. Link on the profile._

_By the way, anyone notice the color of Helga's bathing suit? The fish? The water? The numbers on the clock? I really hope you guys are paying attention. That is all._

_-PointyObjects_

_P.S. I try to do this every year, but I've updated on November 15th for a reason. Ladies and Gentleman, Pointy_Objects is officially 21 years of age. Break open the bubbly!_


	6. 5 mon, 2 wks, 15 hrs, 18 minutes

**Roses Are Red**

**Chapter 6: 5 months, 2 weeks, 15 hours, 18 minutes**

* * *

After collapsing atop the bed, I brought myself to my knees and crawled toward the door. I knew what I had to do; Phoebe made me rehearse it a million times:

Step One: Find Pre-Packed pregnancy bag and double check for necessities.

Step Two: Alert ambulance, if necessary.

Step Three. Get in the car. Begin timing contractions, if any.

Step Four: Go to the Hospital.

So far, I'm on Step One, which is not easy when crawling around on the floor, half-soaked, half-delirious. I remember packing my bag a long time ago, because, when I told Phoebe that I stashed a bottle of Coke in there, she shook her head, but promised not to try and remove it. She knew better.

Shaking my head, I tried to think of where I stashed the bag. Moving toward the closet, I lifted my upper body from the floor and rummaged around in the bottom of my closet. Throwing countless shoes around, I searched for the familiar black and red bag. It was Arnold's when he used to work out; I remember finding some of his old towels in there and leaving them, so that I'd have something at the hospital to comfort me. And considering the amount of _dis_comfort I was currently feeling, I could really go for a towel right now.

"Phoebe!" I called, as loudly as I could. Maybe she put it in the car for me already. Struggling to stand, I slipped on the only shoes that fit me this late into my pregnancy, and made my way to the door. I had the distinct feeling that my feet were in the wrong shoes, but I was too tired to fix it. At the top of the stairs, I called Phoebe's name again, but heard no reply. Stepping down each stair one at a time proved easier than I anticipated, but the trip down seemed longer than it was supposed to.

When I finally reached the bottom, I searched the house for Phoebe, using countertops, tables and chairs to support me. My legs were feeling weak, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down. But, I was certain that if I gave into that desire, I wouldn't be able to stand back up.

"Phoebe?" I shouted again. Nothing stirred within the entire house. Where was Phoebe? Did she leave while I was sleeping? Where could she have gone?

Wasting no time, I found the phone and promptly dialed 911. I wasn't sure how fit I was to drive, but if something happened, I thought it best to alert Emergency Services as soon as possible. After a ring or two, a woman picked up, sounding much older than myself, but very attentive.

"Hello?" I asked, sounding more frantic than I was.

"Hello? What is your emergency?" she asked.

"My water broke and I cant find Phoebe!" I shouted.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, can you repeat that?"

"I'm pregnant." I told her, hoping that would help. It didn't. "I think I need an ambulance!"

"Ma'am, I think you may need to speak with our Unwed Mothers Helpline…the number is-"

"I'm not unwed! I'm married and I'm going into labor!" Crimeny this woman was annoying. Calling me an unwed mother…I'm technically still married, and I'm not a mother yet. That's why I was calling. I needed help with the whole "becoming a mother" part.

"Is there anyone there who can take you to the hospital, ma'am?" I really wish she'd stop calling me ma'am. It's not helping.

"I can't find her. She's-"

I was cut off mid sentence when a searing pain ripped up my mid-back and wrapped itself around my abdomen. The pain was almost unbearable, and in shock, I threw the phone across the hallway, and fell to my knees. The last thing that the 911 operator must have heard was my shrill scream, just before the batteries in the phone fell out and slid down the hallway.

Clutching my belly, I tried to think through the pain; not to get lost in it. Okay, my first contraction. This is it. I have to time them, so when I get to the hospital, they'll be able to tell me how soon until the baby is born. I started counting, wishing that I had my pregnancy bag, which led a timer in it.

_Mississippi one, Mississippi two, Mississippi three…_

Opening the front door, I found that it was still raining, but I snatched my keys from the hook by the door and braves the weather, even though I wore no raincoat. I must have been a sight, both feet in the wrong shoes, soaked from the waist down, trying to walk off a contraction, and in the rain, no less. Making it to the car door, I yanked it open and fell gracelessly into the driver's seat. Jamming the key into the ignition, I turned it violently, only for my car to sputter and conk out. I tried it again, and a third time with the same response, before punching the steering wheel, and giving up.

_Mississippi two-hundred and ten, Mississippi two-hundred and eleven…_

Once again, I wondered where Phoebe was. Looking next door, I saw my neighbor's porch light on and their large, red SUV parked in the driveway. Launching myself from my car, and not bothering to close the door, I moved toward their house, hoping that someone was home. I tried to remember their names, feeling embarrassed if I were to ask them for a ride to the hospital, and I didn't even know who they were, entirely.

"Hello? Anybody home?" I shouted, knocking on their screen door. The front door was wide open and I could see into the spacious house. The TV was on and in the background, so was a radio. Pounding on the door, I was surprised when it gave way and swung open, away from me.

"Hello?" I called into the house, hoping for a response. There was no way someone left their front door open and wasn't even home. "I'm your next door neighbor, Helga Shortman. I don't really know you, but my water broke, and my friend is gone, and I could really use a ride to the hospital. Sorry I haven't spoken to you much, but I've been going through a lot…my husband's dead, and I've been grieving on my own for the past six months. But, I'll get around to visiting once I have this baby and stop seeing blood all the time…" I thought about my words for a moment. I finally say out loud what's been on my mind, and who is it to? No one. Just my neighbor's empty house. Such progress…

Once I was sure that the house was empty, I eyes the keys sitting on the coffee table nearby. It's not stealing if you kind of almost know the person and the they live next door to you, is it? And if they were there, and somehow unable to drive me to the hospital, I'm certain that they'd have let me take the car anyway. Last year, our was rake broken, and they let us borrow theirs. Gestures like that make me think that borrowing their car wouldn't be a very big deal. No, they wouldn't mind at all.

Before I knew it. I was behind the wheel of a shiny, new (at least from the way it smelled on the inside) Denali, trying to figure out how to reverse it out of the driveway. I tried to calm myself down, and looked at each button and knob individually and carefully. Once I found the gear shift, and placed the car in reverse, I looked back to see if anything was coming from either side of the street. Sheets of water were pouring down now, and I could barely see behind me. Deciding to take a chance, I stepped on the gas gingerly, attempting to ease my way out of the driveway. Instead, I jettisoned backwards, screaming inside the car, and slamming on the brakes as soon as I got in the street.

Coming to a stop, with the car facing diagonally in the street, I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. Just as I was ready to continue on, another contraction gripped my abdomen, and I held on tightly to the steering wheel, clenching my teeth so hard, I thought that they'd break under the pressure. I realized that I stopped counting the seconds long ago, but I didn't care. I needed to be at the hospital now. I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

It was harder for me to take deep breaths, so I closed my eyes and leaned against the mammoth steering wheel in front of me. It was then that I heard something approaching. Looking up and through the blurred glass window of the driver's seat, I saw a white ambulance coming down the street, it's red and white lights blaring. A twinge of elation rose up within me. They were coming! They were coming to take me to the hospital. For the first time all day, I smiled, and loosened my grip on the leather steering wheel. I ejected the key from the ignition and shoved it in my pocket, promising to return it to the neighbors as soon as I could. Reaching for the lock, I attempted to pull it up, so that I could leave the car and signal to the ambulance that I was the one who called. As soon as my fingers slid around the lock, it disappeared down into the car door, locking me inside. In disbelief, I tried frantically to unlock it automatically, but there were too many buttons and I was panicking. I began crying in frustration, scratching at the wood grain of the door, trying to pull the tiny knob back up to release me. Looking back up through the glass, I pounded on the door, trying to gesture to the ambulance driver that I was there.

I didn't realize their intent until it was too late. They couldn't see me. Either the rain, or the tint of the windows blinded them, and my pounding made no difference. As the ambulance drew closer, I felt a chill envelop my entire body. A split second before I heard the crunch of metal and shattering glass, I turned from the window, my arms instinctively going to my belly to protect my last gift from Arnold.

* * *

_:(_

_I know. Me too._

_-Pointy_Objects_


	7. 0

_At the urging of a certain **Arnold's Love**, the final chapter of Roses Are Red, is being posted tonight. Because...that's when she wanted it. End of story. Happy Anniversary!!!!_

_And thank you to anyone who has even read Roses. I know it hasn't been the happiest story ever, or the one that has always made perfect sense, but you stuck around. Thanks a ton, compadres. On with the story._

**Roses Are Red**

**Chapter 7: 0**

* * *

I am certain that there is a word for what I'm feeling right now.

I just don't know what it is.

Several months into my pregnancy, I began having the strangest sensations on my chest. They lasted for only a few minutes at a time, but they somehow brought me comfort. I couldn't identify it; it was never at the same time everyday, and as soon as I composed myself enough to compulsively grasp for it, the feeling would vanish. The weight and warmth on my chest would leave and I'd feel more alone than before.

I can feel it now. I'm half expecting for it to disappear again, for me to move my arms in the slightest, and for it to be gone, that quickly.

Only, it's not leaving. And I can't move my arms.

My eyes are so heavy, I can barely open them. I'm frustrated. I struggle with to move my arms, lifting by back off of whatever I'm laid out on. I feel the structure move and rock under me, so much so, that I hardly notice the absence of the warmth on my chest. Now, I'm frustrated. I'm trapped, bound to some contraption, and my only source of comfort is gone.

I have no Arnold.

I have no Phoebe.

I have nothing.

I can feel something softer now, on both my arms, seeking to further restrain me. Though soft, they press down hard on my arms, only causing me to thrash wildly. Incoherent sounds of anger shoot forth from my mouth. I try to tell them to stop, to let me go, but my words are slurred. I can't understand them myself. There are voices. I can't make out what they're saying. They sound panicked.

Good. I panicked alone for nine months. Join the club.

I feel a pinprick on my upper arm. Whatever it is, it acts quickly. In a matter of seconds, I've stopped thrashing. Inside however, I'm in a frenzy. My thoughts are racing, and I can barely keep up with them. Where am I? Why? How? What happened to the Ambulance? Who is trying to restrain me? Why?

Fighting to stay awake, I pry my eyes open slowly, ignoring the bright lights above me and let out a final guttural cry. The sound if foreign and frightening, even to me.

It is the last thing I utter before falling back onto my cot.

A rhythmic and steady beep lulls me back to sleep.

* * *

I woke up crying. I'm not sure why. Maybe I had a bad dream. Maybe this is all a bad dream. I don't remember.

I'm propped up in my bed with a few large pillows, so I don't have to crane my neck to see much. Looking forward, I see a window. I expect there to be rain, maybe grey skies. But there isn't. The sky peeks in, bright blue, a few wispy white clouds passing by. The sun brightens up the room a little, but this does little to my mood.

I don't realize that I'm in a hospital room, until a nurse walks in, wheeling a cart in front of her. She has long brown hair, in one single braid, falling to the middle of her back. Her uniform is perfectly white. She's probably new to this job. She's probably younger than me. She's probably never even seen anyone die.

She doesn't seem to notice that I'm awake, because she wheels her little cart right next to me, and reaches over to straighten my table. I almost laugh when she jumps at the sight of me, awake. Then again, she could be jumping at the sight of me, period. I never was one to wake gracefully.

"Hi!" she says, fascinated. I blink at her. She looks shocked that I'm awake. Maybe I was declared dead, or something. But, why would she be bringing me food, if I were dead? Maybe she's just some weird nurse. I sneak a peek at her nametag. Liza. I look back at her face, and she looks like she's seen an alien.

"Hi…" I whisper. My voice sounds raspy and unfamiliar. Like when you're getting over a long cold, and you forget what you sound like. Like that.

"Wow…I…and you're…I have to…Dr. Harrison!" she says, before running out of the room, her perfectly clean white Crocs flapping on the linoleum. I wonder why she's so excited. But I remember that she might be new. Maybe she's just excitable.

Wait, Dr. Harrison? Why would Dr. Harrison visit me? As soon as I ask myself that, he enters, looking more grey-haired than I remember. As with Liza, the overly-excited, brand, shiny new nurse, he looks shocked. Immediately he reaches for my am, and I'm too confused to move it.

"Helga? Can you hear me?" he says, gently.

I nod. Waiting for him to go on.

"Are you feeling any pain?" he asks, in the same tone. I do wish he'd stop talking to me as if I were a child.

I shake my head. If he insists on speaking to me like a five-year old, then I'll act like one.

"I'm just going to check your vitals." He says, pulling a stethoscope from out of his doctor-coat thing. You know, that long, white jacket all the hot-shot doctors wear. Why is everything in a hospital white? It's a very…I don't know, blah color. Like an empty coloring book. Or a pack of paper. It seems incomplete.

"If at any time, you feel pain-any pain at all- let me know, okay?"

I'm about to nod again, but the door to my room is opened forcefully, and there are angry shouts coming from around the corner. There's a man, and at least two women, arguing loudly.

"Sir, you can't-"

"She's my wife! I-"

"She can't deal with anymore stress-"

"I need to see-"

I try to decipher the voices, what they mean, and why they're outside of my room. Something metal meets with the linoleum flooring and a man bursts through the door. Two women, dressed in identical, white uniforms follow him, admonishing him to leave. Dr. Harrison stands, and addresses the offenders. I can only see legs and the two other nurses, the man's face is hidden from view. I try to get Liza to move out of my eyeshot, but she seems as engrossed in the situation as I am.

"Denise! Margaret! What is the meaning of this?" Dr. Harrison shouts. Now _he's_ angry. I'm in a room full of angry people, and I'm confused. Well, I suppose It's not _full_ of angry people. Liza seems relatively calm.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Sh-"

"Dr. Harrison, you have to understand! It's been months, I have to see her." the man said, sounding exasperated. "She's my wife."

Maybe Liza wasn't that much younger than me. She's obviously held this job for a long time, especially if her husband hasn't seen her in months. I wonder what he looks like. I wonder if they have any kids.

"I understand your situation, really I do. But any stress my serve to further damage her psyche. We can't risk that. I'll let you know when you can see her." Dr. Harrison says, calmly. Poor Liza. She can't even talk to her husband or else it'll mess with her brain. Despite the situation, she looks relatively calm. Maybe her psyche is already beyond repair.

For some reason, I'm met with the urge to comfort her. I reach out and touch her bare arm, and she jumps. Liza is very easily scared, it seems. She turns to look at me, as if she's forgotten that I'm there, amongst all the commotion. She kneels down next to my bed, and I stare at her sympathetically. Funny thing is, she looks kind of sympathetic too.

"It's okay, Liza." I say quietly. Denise and Margaret and Dr. Harrison and Liza's husband stop talking and stare at us. Her brow creases like she's going to cry. I pat her arm. "It's going to be okay."

She stares at me, and I like to think that she's feeling better. I try to crack a smile at Dr. Harrison, and the nurses, just to let them know that everything is okay. When my eyes finally drift to Liza's husband, who, up until now, has been hidden from view, my eyes narrow. He looks familiar to me. The look on his face is strange; eager yet hesitant. Deeply remorseful, but also deeply relieved. I cant quite place it.

"Helga…?" he says, in barely a whisper.

In an instant, I feel like I've been struck in the head. My head shoots backward, and I'm facing the ceiling. All of my senses are under attack. I'm assaulted with images, sounds, feelings. A rosebush, Nancy's garden party, the east wall of our backyard, Dr. Harrison's office. I hear over and over, him saying that I was two months pregnant, Nancy talking excitedly about a baby shower, Phoebe asking me where Arnold is. I feel a familiar moisture on my hands and skin, remembering the sight of a mysterious red liquid that I can only place as blood, covering walls and floors, and myself. I see myself, far into my pregnancy, struggling through the day, growing more and more delirious. And finally, I see that inauspicious evening, my water breaking, the call to 911, the neighbors SUV, the ambulance, the crash…

"No!" I say, breaking out of my reverie, face covered in tears. I'm shaking my head from side to side, trying to erase the memories from my brain. Margaret and Denise start moving toward me, and I anticipate the restrain they're going to put me under. As they reach for my arms, I snatch the covers from over me, and begin clawing at the thin hospital gown I'm wearing. It gives. I throw my head back and cry out at the sight.

My stomach is slightly pale, and flat. But what unnerves me, what distresses me more than anything, is the darkened scar extending from my bellybutton, on down and disappearing beneath my underwear.

It was still fresh, barely healed.

I rest my hand over it, half-expecting to feel something. A kick, a push, a heartbeat.

But there is nothing. I am empty.

I hear Dr. Harrison advise Arnold to stay back, but he doesn't listen. A pair of arms encircle me and I'm pushed into a hard shoulder. He smoothes my hair, rubs my back, anything to quell my now hysterical crying. But nothing helped.

And nothing would.

* * *

What seemed like several hours later, I woke up, my chest still contracting from my bout of frantic crying. To my side sat Arnold, facing away from me, staring out of the window. I couldn't see his face, but from the arch in his back, I could tell that he was upset. He had reason to be.

"I was wondering when you'd show up." I choked. I wasn't thrown off by his protective embrace hours ago. He _felt _real. He _sounded _real. But the blood on my hands felt real too. I was used to it. And if anything, I expected any sort of hallucination of Arnold-whether it be his voice, or his touch, or just the sight of him- much sooner than now.

He turned quickly, looking eager again. He sat to my right, on top of my hospital bed with me, and took my right hand in both of his. He kissed my knuckles, sighing into my hand. "I'm so glad you're awake." he said quietly, he warm breath tickling my hand. I told myself not to be fooled by such a clever and realistic delusion.

"What happened?" I asked. I felt my eyes growing moist and my chin trembling. I didn't want to talk to him, because, like most of my mirages, they didn't last long. They were fleeting and torturous. But, I had to know.

"There was…an accident." he explained.

"I know." I choked out. "The neighbor's Denali, and the ambulance."

Arnold looked confused. "What? What are you talking about, Helga?"

I sniffle and narrow my gaze; he's messing with me. But, I suppose that I shouldn't have expected much else.

"Dr. Harrison said you may have trouble remembering a lot, because of the accident. What do you remember, Helga?" he asked, tenderly. I tried not to get lost in those green eyes, tried not to think about how elated I was that I could look at them again.

I shut my eyes and tried to bring everything to mind without crying. I told him what I could, what came to me in flashes (excluding his own murder and my run-ins with 'blood'). I told him about being at Nancy's garden party, and fainting, about waking up in the ambulance and going home. I told him about my "stay-cation", how I saw roses everywhere. "And when I came home, I felt sick. So, I went to Dr. Harrison and…"

"And what?" he asked, leaning closer to me. I wanted nothing more than for the "real" Arnold to be back, to take me in his arms, and tell me that everything was better.

"…and he told me, I was two months pregnant." I admitted.

"Do you remember anything else from that day? Anything that happened that evening?"

I shook my head, searching my brain for something else that happened that night. My memory after that was only in flashes, brief occasions with other people, or strange occurrences when I was alone. But nothing from _that _evening. "Why? What happened that night?"

Arnold looked hesitant for a moment, and squeezed my hand harder. "I came home that night, and you looked…I can't describe it. It was like you were excited about something, but still scared. I didn't take note of it; I thought you were just in some mood. But, then we started to argue; about what, I forgot. And suddenly you were angry. You started shouting, you said I was a cheater and a liar, and you asked me if things would ever change.

"I said…I said that I was trying, and you told me that wasn't good enough. That you needed to now for sure that things would be different. I left the room; I was so stressed and tired and angry. Mostly at myself. I knew I was hurting you, but…and then, when I came back into the bedroom, you were on the ground. I tried to wake you up, but nothing worked. I called 911, told them my wife had fainted. But before they came, you woke up. You were still angry. I wanted you to lie back down, but you tried to leave the house. Once you got outside, you started crying, yelling that I was leaving you and that you'd have to do it alone. I didn't understand what you meant.

And then…you started walking toward the street. You didn't see the ambulance. I tried to run toward you but…you were hit."

I was taken aback. I had no memory of the night, and thus, I couldn't tell if Arnold was telling the whole truth. But, I was convinced that this…phantasm, this lie, was only out to further confuse me.

"No." I said simply, growing angry at him. "No, you're lying."

"Sweetheart, I-"

"No! Stop it! You're not Arnold! He's gone!" I shouted, angrily. "He left me! Don't call me sweetheart, don't lie to me anymore! I was pregnant! I know it! I know it!"

"I'm sorry, I know you're still angry at me. But you have to listen." He said, holding onto my arms, I tried to calm myself down. No use in getting angry at a figment of your own imagination, huh?

"You were hit. And I know it was my fault. I've been blaming myself ever since. But, you have to listen to me. I didn't know you were pregnant until we got to the hospital. I didn't know."

"Why am I here, Arnold? Your story doesn't add up. Why am I here?" I asked, in a low tone. "Where's my baby?"

Arnold looked to the ground, ashamed. "Helga, you're here because…you've been in a coma for almost seven months."

I tried to steady my breathing. A coma? Seven months? But, Nancy and Phoebe and the baby…I know what I saw, what I felt. Hallucinations were one thing, but some things were too real. I couldn't have been in a coma for seven months.

"But…I…I _saw_-" I tried to explain, but Arnold cut me off.

"Dr. Harrison has been keeping a close eye on you. Along with the Neurology department of the hospital. Even when you were in the coma, they said your brain activity was phenomenal. Almost an impossibility. It mimicked that of sleep; it was like you were dreaming." he said, happily.

I slipped my hand from his, and ran them up my face and though my hair. It felt heavier than I remembered it. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe I have been in a coma for months, dreaming each day and night away. But it didn't change the most important thing of the past few months. It changed nothing.

Arnold must have been alarmed by my tears, and pain-stricken face. I was so tired of crying, of being shocked. I was tired of being broken hearted.

"What's wrong?" he asked sympathetically. I was beginning to believe him to really be Arnold. Only he could be dense enough not to know why I was so upset.

"Even if you are telling the truth…if I have been 'asleep' for months," I said, dropping my hands to my lap. I almost smiled when no blood appeared. "The only thing that kept me…stable, even in my own dreams, was knowing that even if you did leave me, forever, that I would have our child. Someone to prove that, once upon a time you loved me. And know he's gone." I said, trying not to sob.

Arnold took my hand back in his and brought it to his mouth. He kissed my hand, and I cried harder. I stared at my lap as he rose, and walked silently out of the room. I wanted to cry myself to sleep again, but a vague feeling of expectation kept me awake. Within a few minutes, Arnold came back into the room, but I didn't want to look at him. I got my husband back, but lost my baby. Was that a fair bargain? I couldn't tell.

"Helga?" he said, standing over me.

My eyes were blurred by unfallen tears, but I looked at him, expecting to see him looking back with pity. His fuzzy image bent over me, laying something soft and warm on my lap, falling into the crook of my arm. I blinked a few time to dispel the tears, and stared, confused, at the package. As I was about to look up at Arnold, it moved. I jumped, and cautiously moved my hand to remove the white blanket from it. I wanted so badly to believe the impossible, but my mind wouldn't let me. I had to see it for myself. I had to touch it, and know for sure.

Pulling the corner of the white blanket up, I pressed my lips together to keep from crying out. My hands were shaking as I looked at the tiny, pale face in front of me. It's face was so small, eyes squeezed closed., looking both asleep and frustrated. A bright red mouth was half open, set to yawn. When it opened completely, I almost cooed out loud, had I not been on the verge of tears. I removed my hand from over my mouth, and touched it's face gently. I was so lost in thought, I barely heard Arnold speaking.

"She's a week and a half old. All ten fingers, ten toes."

I wondered briefly why men always said that. "Ten fingers, ten toes." I'd love her if she had thirteen fingers and eleven toes. It'd be a predicament, come the winter, trying to buy comfortable socks and mittens, but I'd love her regardless.

"How did I…" I began asking, barely tearing my eyes away from her. She was so perfect. Her little mouth moved almost spastically; her lips pressing against each other, and making me smile instinctively. Her fists, which were now freed from the confines of the blanket, were opening and closing. Her fingers were so small and pale that I could hardly tell her fingernails apart from the skin of her fingers. I wanted to drink in everything about this perfect life in front of me.

"They had to deliver her through caesarean, since you were still out of it. It was a perfect delivery. We placed her on your chest everyday. Dr. Hamilton said that your brain would recognize the feeling, even though you were unconscious."

I gasped at this, finally looking at Arnold. He warmed my heart then, looking so proud and elated. "I think…I could feel that. Sometimes, I would get this warm feeling on my chest. And I'd try to grasp at it, but then it would leave. I didn't understand it." I'm sure that I sounded like a crazy person to him. I smiled back at him and resumed staring at my baby. Our baby.

Arnold knelt down next to the bed, Looking at me over the baby's head. "Helga, I know that before all of this,…I did some really messed up stuff. I never should have left you, no matter how stressed I was. I was wrong. And I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

I nodded at him to know that he was forgiven. I had no reason to hold a grudge against him. In his mind, he spend the last seven months without me, worrying about my health and that of our child. And I spend the same amount of time, thinking that I had killed him and beating myself up for it.

Now, more than ever, we needed each other.

"You don't have to worry about anything, okay? I'm going to be here, every step of the way, you can trust that. You and Olivia are the most important things to me." he said, stroking my face.

I smiled a little wider. "Olivia?" I questioned.

Arnold's face went for hopeful to panicked. I had to laugh. "Do you like it? The hospital needed some way to identify her, but they said we can change it. I tried to think of something you would like, but-"

"It's perfect." I said, quieting him. Olivia. It was a perfect name. I said it to myself a few times. Arnold, Helga and Olivia. "Olivia." I finally said out loud. Arnold seemed pleased with his choice. Even if I hated it, I wouldn't want to take the privilege of naming our first child away from him.

"She doesn't have a middle name, though. I was going to wait until you woke up." He said, looking at her now. "Any ideas?"

I stared at her as well and wondered. I had no idea about naming a baby. Even in my seven-month dream, I didn't think about any names, mostly because I wasn't aware of the sex of the child. I always figured that a name would just come to me; that when the baby was born, and cleaned up and laying in my arms, that something would just…go off, like a flash and it'd be there. The perfect name. Olivia seemed so perfect in and of itself, and nothing seemed to be coming to give me a hint as to a middle name.

Just as I was about to admit defeat, she opened her eyes. It was slow at first; the light in the room was low, but she was still so little. My mouth hung open when her tiny eyelids finally parted and she looked at me.

Staring right at me, were two (and there really is no other word to describe them) perfect, bright green eyes. Green like Arnold's. In my head, I declared them my favorite pair of eyes in the world. I would never tire of seeing them.

I touched her cheeks again, and she cooed, her little tongue pushing it's way past her lips. Her face began changing from pale to a bright pink.

And then it came to me. The flash. Her middle name.

"Any ideas?" Arnold asked again.

"Rose." I said, laughing to myself. "Olivia Rose."

* * *

_Wow. It's done. I can't believe it. I'm really said to see this end. This may possibly trump BSC as my best piece of work. I love it. _

_The ending was weird for me. Because, I'm so happy with it, but I'm not sure if it makes sense to anyone else. Good? Bad? Mediocre? If it doesn't make sense to you, review and let me know, and I'll clarify. Because I love you all so very, very much. Also, I'm contemplating an eighth chapter, that will highlight all the little things that you're supposed to remember about the story that tie in…you know, like how M. Night Shamalan, or whatever his name is, does that thing on his DVD, where he says "Yes and in the crop circle scene, you should have taken notice of the piece of timber that was lying in the field. This same piece of timber was in the little girls tree house in the next scene…" Like that. I'm thinking about it. Let me know if you want it. I've got it all written out. _

_This is just something that I thought up. Feel free to disregard it. _

* * *

"Mommy!"

I turned the stove down before wiping my hands on a clean dish rag. Dinner was almost ready, but Olivia insisted on playing outside for a few more minutes. I looked out the window and saw the streetlights coming on. She knew that was a signal to come inside. Good girl.

"In here, honey." I said. She came bounding around the corner, her golden pigtails trailing behind her. At four years old, she would only wear her hair in pigtails, no matter where we were going. I like to think she gets it from me.

"Mommy! There's a new girl on our street!" she said excitedly, dumping her coloring book and crayons on the dinner table, but refusing to sit down.

"Really? What's her name?" I asked, checking the heat on the oven.

"Kaylie. And Mommy, guess what? She's four too!" she said, jumping up and down. I looked at her for a minute, my eyes always going to her bright green eyes first. I loved those eyes.

"Maybe she'll be in my class." she said, expectantly. Olivia was set to start kindergarten in a week, and she was clearly excited. No matter the topic, she always managed to bring the conversation back to her first day of school.

"Maybe." I said, finishing off my bottle of Coke. Some things never change.

"Mommy, can I give her a present? Please? She's my newest, bestest, new friend. _Please_?" she asked, clasping her hands under her chin.

"Okay." I said, after a pause. She immediately smiled back up at me and walked to the other side of the table. Lifting an aluminum-foil covered plate off of the top of the table, she began walking toward the door.

"Hey, what are you doing, young lady?" I asked, walking toward her. She stopped and turned to face me, plate in hand. "Those are for the neighborhood bake sale tomorrow."

"I know, but you said I could give her a present. " she said, looking at the aluminum over the plate. "_This _is the present, Mommy."

"Who's getting presents?" came a voice from behind the door, before it opened and Arnold stepped in. I took a deep breath and smiled, watching the door close behind him. He went to work in a suit these days, and carrying a briefcase. Since I decided to stay home and take care of Olivia, Arnold thought that it would be best to not travel as much, and took an office position at the Travel Writing Agency. It paid less, but the benefits were the same, and after finding a smaller place, we were able to get by. We didn't expect, however, for Arnold to get promoted as quickly as he did and begin earning more than he did when he was travel writing. I know he missed traveling, it was something he always wanted to do. And I'm sure that once Olivia is old enough to understand it, he may start up again. Hopefully, not as far away, and not as long.

"Daddy!" Olivia said, setting the plate down on the floor and wrapping her arms around Arnold's neck. I loved seeing the two of them together. He was an amazing father, just as he promised.

"How was your day, Babycakes?" he asked. His nickname made me smile. No one else could call her "Babycakes" (not even me, but she settled with letting me call her Pumpkin), and Arnold was never allowed to call anyone "Babycakes" either. It was something special between her and her father.

"Good. I have a new friend. Her name is Kaylie and she lives over there." she said, pointing to the left side of the house. "I was going to give her a present, but Mommy says we have to save them for tomorrow." she said, pouting. She knew it would work with Arnold, and always used it to overrule me.

"How about we make a deal, you can give them to your friend tomorrow, at the bake sale. Is that okay, Babycakes?" Arnold asked, setting her back on the ground. Olivia nodded in response, and ran from the room, mentioning something about drawing a picture for her new friend.

"Very nicely handled, Mr. Shortman." I said, picking up the plate and giving him a kiss. I placed the plate by the sink, and resumed my job of washing dishes and preparing dinner.

"Why thank you. How was your day?" he asked, standing behind me, his hands on my hips.

"It was nice. I'm glad you're home though." I replied, smiling.

"Me too." he said, removing one of his hands, and I watched as it reached toward the plate, and slipped under the foil covering. "Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to go upstairs and change." he said, pulling a few colorful cookies from the plate.

The image of Arnold coming home from work, eating cookies, heading upstairs was all too familiar. I never told Arnold the details of my seven-month delusion. Letting your husband know that at one time, you contemplated killing him, never really seemed like a good idea. Without thinking, I grabbed the cookies from his outstretched hand and shoved them into my mouth at once. I stood in front of him for a moment, holding the cookies in my mouth. Arnold looked confused, and so I turned from him, and chewed vigorously and swallowed loudly. Taking deep breaths, I smiled at him cheerfully, though this did little to quell his curiosity.

"Um…care to explain?" he asked.

"Oh, I…didn't want you to ruin your dinner. I made a roast." I said, still wearing the same smile.

"Alright. I'll be upstairs." he said, walking out of the kitchen cautiously. As son as he left, I breathed a sigh of relief, and tore the aluminum foil from the plate, and stared at the cookies. I made each and every one of them, but I still didn't trust that. Dumping the plate into the sink, and pushed them into the drain and turned on the garbage disposal. As the loud rumbling of machinery whirred and eventually quieted down, I wiped at my brow.

Better safe than sorry.

* * *

_Just something fun I thought up. Thanks for reading!!!_

_-Pointy_Objects aka Antoinette_


	8. Important Details

**Roses Are Red: Important Details**

So, I've gotten a lot of reviews, where readers have asked about the significance of a certain detail, or asking if I was referencing literature. In response, I'm posting this informative (though somewhat unnecessary) list of references, quotes and important facts for Roses Are Red. I hope all your questions are answered.

* * *

**Dirt**

This was something I planned to play with for the entirety of the story, but eventually it got cut out. At one point (around chapter four), I had the idea of making Helga have a dream that she herself tried to dig up the rosebush, only to find nothing under it, and then wake up the next morning covered in dirt. When I decided to go with the "Backyard Party" dream sequence, this was taken out.

**Blood/"Mysterious Red Liquid"**

The mention of blood first came in chapter two, when Helga noticed the "redness" of her rosebush. The actual MRL didn't make an appearance until chapter three, in Dr. Harrison's office. I received a lot of reviews, saying that parts of the story reminded them of Lady MacBeth, and this was my tiny tribute to that.

Despite the fact that it was never confirmed what exactly this MLR was, it was never referred to as blood until chapter four, and even then, Helga refused to acknowledge it as blood. In truth, it wasn't real blood, it was just supposed to resemble blood. I repeat, IT'S NOT BLOOD. IT WAS NEVER BLOOD. HELGA WASN'T BLEEDING. YOU CAN STOP SCREAMING NOW.

**The Number "4"**

This is something very few (actually, only one) reviewer caught, and I'm glad,. Because that means I'm very sneaky. Or, very bad at writing in clues. The occurrences of the number "4" are as follows:

All chapter titles either add up to "4" or add up to factors of 4.

-Chapter 1: 11 hours, 17 minutes. 11+17=28. 28/7=**4**.

-Chapter 2: 4 days, 13 hours, 5 minutes. 4+13+5=22. 2+2=**4**.

-Chapter 3: 9 days, 4 hours, 18 minutes. 9+4+18=31. 3+1=**4.**

-Chapter 4: 2 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours, 54 minutes. 2+3+6+7+54= 72. 72/18=**4.**

-Chapter 5: 5 months, 2 weeks, 15 hours, 14 minutes. 5+2+15+14= 36. 36/9= **4**.

-Chapter 6: 5 months, 2 weeks, 15 hours, 18 minutes. 5+2+15+18= 40. 4+0= **4**.

-Chapter 7: 0. 0 goes into everything. Duh.

In Chapter one, Helga leaves work at exactly **4:44 **PM.

In Chapter Three, when Helga is on the train home from "staycation", a train vendor offers to sell her a rose. They are 3.50 each. She pays $49.00 for all of the roses. 4+9=13. 1+3= **4.**

In Chapter Five, Helga's water broke at 8:41 PM. 8+4+1= 13. 1+3= **4**.

In Chapter Six, Helga had **4** steps in getting ready to go to the hospital.

Also in Chapter Six, Helga stopped counting at "Mississippi two hundred and eleven". 211. 2+1+1=**4.**

In the addition to Chapter Seven, Olivia is **4** years old. Her nickname from Arnold is "Babycakes", and her nickname, from Helga, is "Pumpkin". "Babycakes" has 9 letters in it. "Pumpkin" has 7. 9+7=16. 16/4=**4**.

(I could just be grasping at straws with this one) Olivia Rose Shortman. Her initials are ORS. O is the 15th letter of the English alphabet. R is the 18th, and S is the 19th. 15+18+19=52. 52/13= **4**.

_Go ahead and say it, we both know the NUmber 4 thing is kind cool/freaky..._

**MacBeth/Lady MacBeth references**

As aforementioned, a lot of people caught on to the Lady MacBeth references quickly. Here they are:

Helga sees blood first on her hands. If she sees it anywhere else, it's source is always her hands. She is the only one who ever see it.

In a vain attempt to quell Nancy's curiosity, Helga replies to her saying, _"Present fears are less than horrible imaginings…"_ This is a direct quote from Macbeth (Act 1, Scene 3). _"False face must hide what the false heart doth know."_ is also a quote from Macbeth, that I used in chapter five, when Helga was answering Phoebe's question, as to why she looked "sick".

**Roses**

Do I even need to go into this one? They were everywhere. You saw them. Moving on.

"**The Tell Tale Heart" references. **

As a child of Baltimore, Maryland, I could not pass up the opportunity to use the city's most famous writer's twisted sense of humor to fuel my own…twisted sense of humor. "The Tell tale Heart" is essentially about a man who works as a butler for a rich, older gentleman, who has a glass eye. The glass eye is a very scary shade of blue, and the butler admits that it taunts him; he feels that, even when the man is asleep, the eye is always watching him. So, he decides to kill the old man. He scares him, late one night, and it's suspected that the man dies of fright (or a heart attack), but to be safe, the butler cuts him up and hides him in the floorboards. Later on that night, the police come by, because the neighbor heard a scream. The butler says that the old man is out of town (or something like that, I haven't read this in a number of years) and invites the policeman to search the house. All the while, the butler hears a ticking noise, that he describes as a "pocket watch muffled with cotton". he likens it to a heartbeat, but tries to brush it off. The entire time the policeman are searching the house, he hears only the heartbeat, until he goes crazy and rips up the floorboards where the old man's body is, screaming, "He's here, under the floorboards! It's the beating of his terrible heart!" or something to that effect.

I only quoted it once, but it was in Chapter 4, when Nancy finds out the Helga is pregnant and asks why she doesn't want to find out the baby's gender:

_"True! Nervous- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will you say I am mad?"_

**Coke**

This isn't terribly important, but I added it for two reasons: One, I'm addicted tot eh stuff. No Pepsi for me. I'm a Coke Girl all the way. And two, I went to the dentist the weekend I posted this, and they said I had to lay off the Coke because it was wearing away at me teeth. My dentist made a joke, that gave me the idea for Helga; he said, "We're going to have to swear you off Coke like they do pregnant ladies!", and then he explained that caffeine is bad for babies and stuff. But **JaeB** assured me that it's not bad, unless in excess. So, that's why Helga's obsessing over it for most of her pregnancy.

* * *

That's all of them folks. If you saw anything else in the story that catches your attention, let me know, and I'll try to explain it. Thank you for reading my fabulously twisted story!!

-Pointy_Objects

aka

Antoinette


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